The Valley
by Woubazoid
Summary: He was always meant to be the Dark One; but he was never meant to walk that path alone. AU retelling of Rumplestiltskin's life if he'd had True Love within his grasp from the beginning. Rumbelle.
1. Another Year

The Valley

Chapter 1: Another Year

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The sunlight streamed through the window, covering his face in a warm embrace. Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as the light blinded him. He reached up with one hand, brushed his hair out of his face and wiped at his eyes thoughtlessly. He sat up, stretching his back to adjust from the uncomfortable position he'd slept in the night before and groaned as his body adjusted to being awake.

Standing, he pulled on his woolen shift and tunic, brushing the dust off of them carefully. He pulled on his shoes, old and ragged but still functional and began to prepare for his day. Normally he awoke before dawn, preparing a small breakfast – when he had the means to do so – and afterward he would gather his materials, sit at the spinning wheel he'd inherited from the spinster who raised him when his father took off, and spin the rest of the morning away. Today he'd decided to allow himself a couple extra hours of sleep. He felt he deserved it. It was his birthday, after all.

The change in his schedule threw him somewhat, but he skipped breakfast – he was used to forgoing meals – and sat at the wheel to spin. The steady rhythm of the wood spinning and the wool in his hands sliding gently from his fingertips into the mechanism lulled him into an easy mindset. He felt as calm as a babe being rocked at his mothers' breast, and he allowed his mind to wander to how he would like to celebrate his day.

A small party, with a few friends and some cheap ale and a plate of small cakes from the local bakery would be the perfect end to such a day. Alas, he had no extra money for cakes or ale. And, being the son of a coward, he had no friends either. But he had his thoughts, and he could imagine such a party, with people surrounding him, patting him hard on the back and congratulating him on surviving yet another year.

And that was it, wasn't it? Surviving. It was all he knew, and he wasn't even particularly good at it. While the nobles and the wealthy celebrated the fact that they'd lived another year, and toasted to more time to enjoy their lives of finery and splendor, the people of his village- and so many villages across the lands – celebrated the fact that they'd survived. The more pessimistic of men, often drunk, would question whether it was a feat worth celebrating.

Rumplestiltskin couldn't help but agree. He did not begrudge his life; not in the slightest. He was grateful for what he had, but he was always very aware that just beyond his reach was a world that contained _more_.

And more was something he knew he would never amount to. He would never have a sturdy, warm home nor a wife to share his bed with. The former was not so bad, but the latter….

He was past the age most men were when they married. Today marked his twenty-ninth year and many of the men who married were slightly younger. In the village they married young so there would be more children produced to help in the family trades. He knew he was ready for a wife, and he knew just who he would like to have as such, but he pushed those thoughts aside. No use in dwelling on things he could not have.

He spun for most of the morning and when he finished he wound up the wool he had carefully spun and placed it in a basket. Grabbing his shabby cloak that was hardly useful in its old age, he left his shack and made his way down to the market, intending to sell his wares. The market in the village was a busy place, people crowded in the narrow pathway, trying to reach vendors who were selling fresh produce, trinkets, breads and cheeses. Rumple pushed his way through the crowd, receiving several scornful looks from those who even deigned to look his way, and finally came to the end of the row of booths where his destination lay.

He approached the booth at the end, occupied by a gruff and portly man with a thick beard and even thicker eyebrows. He was an unfriendly fellow, but he was fair in his prices and though Rumplestiltskin held the man in little regard, he depended on him to buy his wool, and therefore said nothing out of turn.

"What have ye got here today, Spinner?" The man asked, his voice dry and rough.

"S-Some wool," Rumplestiltskin stuttered out softly. He was not skilled at bargaining, and his nerves always pushed their way to the surface any time he was supposed to be the least bit forceful. He was not the only spinner in the village, but certainly the most disliked, and if he did not accept the man's offer, he knew there would be others who would gladly take it, even if their work was half the quality of his.

Everyone knew Rumplestiltskin was a skilled spinner, but no one desired to admit it. He was always paid less than what his wool was worth, but he found he did not have the heart to argue with those who could just as easily drive him from his home, son of a coward that he was.

The vendor, Ebert, grabbed the wool from Rumplestiltskin's basket and examined it closely, feeling the material with his rough, thick fingers. He sniffed indignantly and shoved his hand into his purse. He pulled out six shillings and held them out for Rumplestiltskin, who gaped at the amount.

"Six shillings?" He gasped. "Ebert, my wool is worth more than that and you know it!"

Ebert gave him a hard glare and reached into his pocket and pulled out one more shilling and slammed them down onto the table, rocking his entire booth. "You ought to be grateful I give you that, Spinner," he said harshly. "You forget who you are. You're the son of a coward and you're no less a coward than your father. I can take my business elsewhere if you think you're too good for my coin."

Biting back the tears that stung his eyes, Rumplestiltskin slid the coins off the table into his hand, keeping his head down in shame. Ebert was right. He had no other choice but to accept what the man offered, even if his wool was worth more. He could not afford to be picky. He hefted his basket into his hand and turned away, counting the money again. Seven shillings. He had supplies he needed, and he had to eat. It would not be hard to decide what to buy; he knew how to make his miniscule earnings last and this time would be no exception.

He pushed his way back through the market, trying to make his way to the vendors he needed items from without any problems. He managed to get some food; cheese and bread and some dried fruit, but that left hardly anything for more wool. While some spinners were able to afford to buy and raise their own sheep, Rumplestiltskin was not so fortunate. He was saving up for one, but he had not yet managed to save enough of his earnings to even buy the smallest, most pathetic sheep.

He returned home and stored his food, then took one shilling and dropped in in the small clay cup he used as his fund for a sheep. He placed the jar under the basket that held his spinning supplies to keep it hidden. After securing it, he grabbed a jug that held the last bit of ale he'd purchased a few weeks ago. He'd saved this bit just for today and after he gathered a few bits of dried fruit onto his plate, he settled at his wheel and began to spin as he ate his birthday supper.

He spun until late that night, hoping to use the last bit of the material to make a worthwhile trip back to the marketplace the next day. He spun the last of his wool and sighed heavily as he wound it up and placed it in his traveling basket, ready to go first thing in the morning. Perhaps if he could get to Ebert right after he'd set up he could catch him in a better mood, if such a thing were possible with the hateful man.

He tipped back the jug and finished off the last of his ale, sighing in bittersweet delight at the novelty drink he could only afford of the most special of occasions. He wiped his hand against the corners of his mouth and looked down at the empty jug in his hands. He's enjoyed the small treat, but it was time to go to bed and rest for the next day. He'd allowed himself one day to work less than normal, but that was not something he could get in the habit of doing. He couldn't afford to.

He returned the jug to where he'd retrieved it and pulled off his shift and tunic. He had no nightgown, and so he slept in his pants. He removed his shoes and crawled into his small bed. It was tiny and uncomfortable but he was grateful for it nonetheless. He looked over at the candle he'd lit when he came home and watched the flame dance and bounce contentedly where it stood. He wished he could be like the flame, bright and burning and beautiful. But he was Rumplestiltskin, and no one wanted or needed him. He was alone in this world and he could not forget it; not even for a day.

He sighed and blew out the candle, letting his loneliness wash over him as the darkness settled over the shack he called home.

* * *

_Author's Notes: _

I do not own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters. Some dialogue in this story is taken directly from the episodes. I claim no ownership of those lines. All original characters, events, and places belong to me.

Chapter 2 will be posted October 25!


	2. A Visitor

Chapter 2: A Visitor

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Rumplestiltskin wandered through the market, intent on reaching Ebert's stall. He had awoke earlier than normal in an effort to reach the man before the crowd of people swept in and overwhelmed the place. He carried his basket, heavy with the wool he'd spun the night before. He felt certain that he would make more money this day, and the hope gave him a slight spring to his step.

He reached the stall, where Ebert was just finishing setting up and Rumplestiltskin dropped the basket on the counter with a slight thud. "I've got some more for you this morning," he proclaimed proudly, though his voice was still soft and easily missed.

Ebert gave him a scowl, clearly no more pleasant in the morning than he was at any other time of day and rummaged through the basket, examining each spool of wool before grunting brutishly and pulled out his purse.

"Yer wool's good," he growled. "Shame yer not."

Sighing gruffly, Rumplestiltskin replied, half begging, "Just tell me what you'll take for it and I'll be out of your hair."

Ebert pulled out a silver coin and a few copper ones and tossed them Rumplestiltskin's way. He scrambled to catch and collect them, holding the pieces in his hand with reverence. He looked up at the man with wide, grateful eyes. "Thank you!" He exclaimed as he recounted the money in his hand. It was more than he'd held in some time, the silver shining in his palm like a beacon of hope. He could do much with this, he knew, and he was already calculating how much he could save and how much he would spend.

"You've made yer money, now get outta my way," Ebert snarled. "Yer ugly mutt'll keep away the other customers."

Rumplestiltskin nodded, not bothering to mind the harsh tone of the man and made his way back through the square. He walked past the bakery, and where the day before he'd been so distraught over the poor profit he'd made to notice the smell, today his senses were more alert, and the smell of fresh bread and pastries filled his nose, causing his mouth to water. A small cake wouldn't cost more than a couple shillings, and he had that plus the silver coin he cherished deeply, so he decided a small treat was in order, his good mood preventing his usual good judgment from keeping him from wasting even one shilling.

He entered the small bakery. The smell was wonderful and he eyed the cakes and breads hungrily, unable to decide on what he wanted to try the most.

A woman came out to greet him, wiping her hands on an old rag. "See something you like?" She asked and Rumplestiltskin knew that even though she no doubt knew who he was, she would not be as rude as Ebert.

He pointed to a sweet cake, and requested it. She handed it to him and he placed in in his basket then offered her two of his shillings. She took them with a hesitant half-smile and then turned away. He knew he was not welcome now that she'd received his money so he left as quickly as he could, determined to go home, enjoy his treat and then get back to work. He would need to purchase some more lamb's wool from the local farm, and that trip was a good half days journey, if he was able to catch the farmer on a good day and purchase the wool for a reasonable price.

He trudged back home, his spirits lowered but his appetite roaring now that he knew he had something pleasant to eat. So wrapped up in thoughts of his treat, he failed to notice the young woman walking the opposite direction of him until it was too late. They bumped into each other, and in her surprise she let go of bundle she was carrying, and the parchments scattered to the ground. He looked at her in horror, then down to the mess on the ground, knelt down and began collecting the papers, mumbling numerous apologizes.

The girl knelt down beside him and began picking up the items as well, smiling and assuring him that it was certainly not a problem. "I'm clumsy anyway," she expressed as she took the parchments he had collected for her. They stood and he stared at her with burning cheeks. Of all the people he would collide with and send sprawling, it would be _her._ The one girl he longed to notice him; and she finally had, though he had made a complete fool of himself.

"I do apologize," he said again, cursing himself for being unable to say anything else. "I should watch where I'm going."

"It's all right," she said with a giggle. "I should do the same." She focused her gaze on him for a moment before asking, "You're Rumplestiltskin, right? The spinner?"

He nodded, swallowing heavily and wishing he weren't so foolish. "Yes," he said, "I am."

She smiled. "My father speaks well of your wool. He claims that you have a real talent for the wheel."

He opened his mouth to thank her but she interrupted, "Oh, where are my manners! I'm-"

"Belle," he answered, then wished he hadn't.

She blinked in surprise and he tried not to sigh aloud at his foolishness. "I see you around the village," he said sheepishly. "You help your father."

She nodded. "I do. I was sent to purchase more parchment and ink. We never seem to be able to keep enough!"

He said nothing in return, but shifted nervously. After a moment he spoke, unsure of where the words were coming from, "I bought a cake. From the bakery," he said knowing he sounded foolish, "Would you perhaps like to share it with me?"

She seemed conflicted, and shifted the parchment in her arms. "I have to get this to my father," she said apologetically. "Another time, perhaps?"

He bit back his disappointment and nodded. "Yes, perhaps." He knew there would not be another time; this would be the only cake he would be able to afford for the year.

She smiled and stepped around him. "I'm sorry, but I must go. Papa is expecting me back. I hope you enjoy your cake!"

He nodded, his tongue tangled behind his lips. She turned and walked away and he watched as her figure shrank as she made her way through the village to reach her father. Rumplestiltskin sighed. He'd watched Belle from a distance for a long while, and she never failed to take his breath away. She was a becoming young woman, kind and generous and he doubted she would ever give him a second glance. He could only image all the younger, more attractive and amiable boys who no doubt vied for and received her attention. And why would she pay attention to him, with so many other – better – options? It was true that she was not rich, but her father's occupation offered them more income than many villagers, and he knew that her father would not allow his daughter to marry a man who could barely provide for himself, let alone a wife as well.

He resigned himself to eating his cake alone, a prospect that now seemed less enjoyable now that he knew he could have shared it with the lovely Belle, and he returned to his shack, where he placed the cake on a plate, suddenly not quite so hungry after all.

Rumplestiltskin decided to postpone his trip to the sheep farmer he where bought his wool. He could wait one more day, especially now that he had an entire silver piece to work with. The prospect of all her could do with that little silver piece lifted his spirits. Perhaps he could buy a large amount of wool and make an equally large profit. He was sometimes able to get the wool for a good price, and he felt sure that he could manage to do so tomorrow. He felt his confidence lift slightly, then chastised himself for allowing the money to get to his head. "Don't expect too much," he reminded himself, "Or you'll be disappointed."

He piddled around his home, straightening up the messes he'd left the night before when he'd been too tired and downtrodden to worry about tidiness. He took pride in his little shack. He'd inherited it from the spinsters who raised him and he worked hard to ensure that it was a sturdy and tidy place. It was his only sanctuary, the only place where he felt welcome and somewhat at ease. It would not do to treat it like a pig's sty.

He had just finished his chores and was about to prepare for his journey the next day when he heard a soft knock at his door. He paused. No one ever came to see him, not unless they absolutely had to, and that was rare at best. He did not know who could want something of him, especially now that it was growing dark; but he straightened out his clothing to make himself look presentable and made his way to his door. He felt his jaw drop slightly when he saw Belle standing there, arms crossed in front of her and looking somewhat sheepish.

"Belle!" He exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

She offered him a small smile and replied, "I know this isn't exactly proper, but I feel bad about running off like this afternoon. I just wanted to come by and apologize for my rudeness. Perhaps we could talk for a bit?"

He watched her for a moment, not believing that she was standing before him, asking to spend time with him. Never in all his dreams had he actually believed Belle, the most lovely girl in the village, would ever look at him.

He'd gone to her father's shop before, needing his services. Being one of the few literate men in the village, her father, Maurice, was not nobility of any kind, but he was well off as far as the town understood. He charged reasonably, and he was skilled in a variety of trades, having briefly served in the king's army as a lad. When he'd left the service, he returned to the village where he'd grown up and put the skills he acquired while he'd been away to good use.

It made him quite a respected and wealthy man.

His daughter, who had always been an exceptionally bright child, had grown up under her father's tutelage and had learned to read and write at an early age - something not many villagers were able to do, and certainly not the women. Many knew enough to sign their name, but just barely, and recently Belle had taken to teaching the children their letters and how to spell and write their names.

She did it for fun.

Rumplestiltskin recalled the first time he's ever seen her. She had been just fourteen at the time, barely old enough to be considered for marriage, and he'd known in that instant that if he ever gathered enough courage to pursue a wife, he would pursue her. He had yet to say a word to her, though, knowing it would end in heartache. Her father would never allow her to marry someone such as he.

And yet here she stood at his doorstep, wanting to be invited inside and he couldn't find the words to neither summon her in nor send her away. Though sending her away was the last thing he ever wanted to do. Finally, he recovered enough to motion her inside, and she smiled brightly as she stepped past him, into the shabby home he now detested. It would never be good enough for someone like Belle and he cursed his poverty and his inability to make more for himself.

He wanted to be the kind of man Belle wanted to be with. Not the kind she came to visit out of pity.

She looked around for a moment, then turned back and offered him another charming smile. "Your home is lovely," she declared, and he must have given her an incredulous look because she pressed on, "I'm serious," she said. "You take care of your home. It's quite lovely."

"Thank you," he managed to choke out, his throat suddenly dry and in need of refreshing.

They stood awkwardly for a moment until finally Rumplestiltskin collected himself and gestured nervously over to the table on which the cake sat.

"I, um," he stuttered, "I hadn't gotten around to eating it yet. I've been…busy." He cleared his throat nervously and continued, "Would you, um, like to share it with me?"

She smiled. "That would be nice. Thank you," she said as she made herself comfortable on one of the chairs near her. Rumple watched her, amazed that she was here, and when she looked up at him expectantly he stumbled over to the table, retrieved a small cutting knife, and sliced the cake in two.

He grabbed another clay plate, slid one piece onto it and made his way to her. He offered her the bigger piece, desperate to please her, and she took it from him with a nod of thanks. They ate in silence for a moment and Rumplestiltskin treasured every bite. It had been a long time since he had indulged in such a treat, and now that he had Belle here to share it with him, he wondered if things could possibly get any better.

"The summer solstice celebration begins tomorrow evening," Belle mused aloud. Rumplestiltskin glanced up at her with surprise. He'd forgotten about the solstice. It would be a great party, with food and dancing and merriment all throughout the night. He usually went, but only for a couple hours before returning home to his lonesomeness.

"Are you going?" Rumplestiltskin asked, kicking himself for asking such an obvious question. Of course she was going. She'd been the one to bring it up.

If she noticed his foolishness, she did not seem to mind. "I am," she said with a smile, "I look forward to it every year."

He nodded, taking another small bite of his cake. He wondered if he should ask her to spend time with him during the festival, but he reminded himself that he was a coward – a poor coward – and she no doubt had already received plenty of lads wishing for a moment of her time. But then, she was _here_ and perhaps the thought of her agreeing to let him escort her was not so farfetched after all.

"This may seem rather forward," he said with a nervous cough, "And I apologize if I offend. And you can most certainly say no, but would you permit me to escort you there?"

He swallowed hard, waiting for her rejection. He was sure it would come. He risked a glance at her, blinking in surprise to see that she was staring at him with a large smile. Could it be she wanted to spend time with him? "It's not forward at all!" She exclaimed. "I would love to have you accompany me." He exhaled sharply, disbelief gripping him. She'd said yes?

Convinced he'd heard her wrong, he heard himself ask, "Are you sure? I'm not the most well-liked man in the village."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, fie. Let them think what they will. If they don't take the time to get to know you, then what right do they have to say hateful things about you. You are kind, from what I've seen, and I would be more than happy to let you accompany me."

He grinned a toothy grin and no longer cared how foolish he looked. Belle had agreed to let him spend time with her at the festival and suddenly he felt his loneliness and bitterness melt away. She had agreed to spend time in his company. She had chosen him over everyone else. He'd never felt so wanted. So welcome.

She glanced at him and blushed. "Do you dance?"

He blinked. "Not normally, no."

She nodded and he could see disappointment flash through her eyes. "Did you want to dance tomorrow?" He asked cautiously. She glanced up at him and smiled sheepishly.

"Now I'm the one being forward," she chuckled. "But I would – only if you want to though! I have no desire to make you uncomfortable."

"I would like nothing more than to dance with you," he declared loudly, then flung his hand over his mouth as he realized how ridiculous he'd sounded. He was a foolish man, but somehow his idiocy shone when Belle was near. He wanted nothing more than to bury his head between his legs and pretend he hadn't just blurted out something so silly.

Belle giggled and his cheeks burned. She stood and carried her plate back to the table, and set it down with care. Turning back around, she made her way to the door and paused, rocking on her heels.

"I should return home," she whispered at length. "Father will be worried if I do not return soon. He doesn't know I'm here."

Rumplestiltskin stood and joined her at the door. "I have no wish to get you in trouble," He said softly.

"Don't worry about me," she said gently. She reached for the door then paused again and glanced back to him, "I'll see you tomorrow evening?"

"Yes," he breathed. She smiled one last time and then she was gone.

He shut the door and pushed the lock in place, securing the door before moving to prepare for bed. He would rise early and rush to the farmer's lot, where he would gather as much wool as he could carry, then be home by noon. He would need to go to the river as well and gather water so that he could bathe. He wanted to look his best for the festival tomorrow, and more importantly, for Belle.

* * *

_Author's Notes: _

I do not own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters. Some dialogue in this story is taken directly from the episodes. I claim no ownership of those lines. All original characters, events, and places belong to me.

I hope you like it so far!

Thank you for your reviews, follows, and favorites! I am not the best about replying to reviews, but know that I appreciate them all!

Chapter 3 will be up November 1st!


	3. Under the Stars

Chapter 3: Under the Stars

* * *

Rumplestiltskin rose early, eager to start the day. He skipped eating his morning meal again, something he knew he would regret later that day. After he dressed he wrapped up a bit of bread and cheese in some cloth and stuck it in his basket, then stepped out into the pale light of morning to make his way to the sheep farmer.

It was several miles to the farm, and normally Rumplestiltskin took his time, enjoying the solitude and silence as he walked the beaten path toward his destination. Today however, his steps were quick as he wanted nothing more than to return home. Thoughts of an evening with Belle blurred out all else.

How happy he was to know that he would be spending time with her, and of her own volition! He could hardly believe it himself, and he allowed his cheerful mood to settle around him like his cloak. He felt warm and content and not even the chill of the morning air could bother him. He began to whistle a merry tune as he walked to the famer's land.

When he arrived a strong and sturdy lad by the name of Hagan greeted him. "Good morrow, Rumplestiltskin," the man greeted, and Rumplestiltskin took a moment to assess the man. He seemed in a pleasant mood, and so Rumple decided he might be able to get a good deal.

"Good morrow," he replied with a nod. Hagan regarded him for a moment then motioned for Rumplestiltskin to follow him.

"Yer after more of my wool, eh?" Hagan stated with a slight, harsh laugh and Rumplestiltskin nodded firmly.

"Yes, sir. It's fine quality; best I've ever worked with." He hoped the compliment would set Hagan in even better spirits.

"Don't be kissin' my boot, now," Hagan said gruffly. "Let's see how much you have and I'll ensure you get a good deal. I'm feelin' generous today."

"Well, the festival is tonight," Rumplestiltskin declared and Hagan guffawed.

"You ever see me at that festival?" He asked boisterously. "I ain't in the way of socializin' with my customers. 'Sides, the missus is with child again, so I'll be dealin' with her after I'm finished with the flock."

Hagan's wife, a petite thing not much older than Belle, remained pregnant, or so it seemed to Rumplestiltskin. This would make their seventh child in as many years, but Rumplestiltskin knew there was pride in having sons to take over the trade.

"Congratulations," Rumplestiltskin acknowledged genuinely. "I'm sure you're quite proud."

"I'll be proud if she can give me a boy," he commented gruffly. "Damn woman's given me girls so far and what in the god's names am I supposed to do with 'em? Gotta come up with a dowry for 'em and that'll be a pain right there. Sons is the way to go, if you ask me."

Rumplestiltskin didn't agree, but he didn't want to insult the man who him the wool he spun, so he claimed he felt the same and took his goods. He paid the farmer for his troubles, lamenting the loss of the silver coin but grateful for the thirteen shillings that were left from it. Pocketing his change, he turned to make his way back home.

He stopped when he was halfway home and sat a few paces off the path, enjoying his bread and cheese. It was near midday, and the sun was now beating down upon him without mercy. He wiped the sweat off his brow and sighed as he swallowed the last of his small lunch. He would need to hurry if he wanted to get home in time to finish his chores before he spent his evening with the lovely Belle.

With her on his mind again, he grabbed his basket and rushed home as quickly as he could. The basket was heavy, but he hardly noticed. The thought of Belle made him feel nothing but joy.

He made it back to his shack and placed the basket of wool next to his spinning wheel. He would need to prepare the wool and lanolin before he could begin spinning the batch, so he set to work, preparing enough wool to last him several days. He had other things to do today, and he did not want to get caught up in his work.

He worked hard, preparing the sheep's wool to be spun. Finally he stopped, looking up to get an idea of the time. When he realized where the sun was positioned, he cursed and began cleaning up his mess. Once everything was put away and tidied, he grabbed a wooden bucket and rushed down to the creek. He dipped the bucket into the water, and pulled it back up, water splashing him as he did so. He made his way back to his shack, slowed down by the weight of the water. When he arrived he poured some into a clay pitcher to save, and then poured the rest into the small black kettle over the fireplace. He lit the logs, waited for the water to heat, and then stripped himself of his clothing. Then he grabbed one of the few clean rags he had and dipped it into the water and began to scrub himself clean.

He had no soap - it was a luxury he could not often afford, but he scrubbed himself raw, hoping that some of the smell from the past couple days would wash off. He did not want to smell unpleasant in front of Belle, and he was sure that when she had visited him yesterday he had done just that.

He rang the rag over his head, allowing the water to wet his hair, which instantly made him feel better, and he grabbed a towel and began to dry off, rubbing it over his hair first. When he was dry, he went to the small chest he had beside his bed and pulled out a second shirt - the only other one to his name - and pulled it over his head. He pulled his pants and shoes back on and took the other shirt and dipped it in the kettle. He rang it out, then took it outside to hang on the small line he had put up for the infrequent occasion when he washed his clothing.

Deciding that would have to do, he returned to his house and sat down to wait. Then he began to fret. He hadn't asked if she would meet him here, or if he should collect her from her father's house. Would they meet at the festival? He did not know and now he wasn't sure what to do.

He sat and waited for some time, idly playing with the tufts of sheep's wool. He fingered the softness, enjoying the feel and decided that he would own his own sheep one day. It would be a wonderful investment, he knew, but until he could afford to buy a sheep and have enough money to care for it as well as himself, he knew he could not do it. He was determined however, and something in him stirred at the thought of becoming more successful. He knew riches were just a dream, but he could make a decent living for himself, if he truly applied himself. He may have to eat scraps for a time, but if he could purchase a sheep and have his own wool he felt maybe he would be worth Belle's interest. Now he was just a poor spinner with hardly anything to show for the long hours he put in, and he had no idea how the beautiful Belle had even noticed his existence.

The festival was about to start; he could hear music playing lightly and children screaming and running. He could even smell food and his mouth watered at the thought of having a juicy piece of lamb's leg or some salted ham. His stomach rumbling, he grabbed the clay cup that held his meager savings and dug out a couple shillings. One last splurge before he buckled down and began truly saving up for a sheep, he decided. He would enjoy the night with Belle, then he would settle down and get to work. He was glad for the motivation. He'd lacked it for some time, the knowledge that he would never amount to anything a weight that seemed to prevent him from truly putting himself into his work.

Belle made him feel light. She made him want to _do _something; to _be _someone.

He pocketed his coins, then hastily checked that his pants did not have holes in them where the coins could fall out. That would be truly embarrassing, losing his money in such a careless manner. When he was satisfied that his money would not escape him, he grabbed his cloak and left his home, intent on finding Belle. She wanted to spend time with him, and he was going to ensure that she did.

He ventured through the crowd, keeping his eyes open for any sign of her. When he did not see her, he made his way toward her home, hoping that she was there. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the entire evening searching for her. As he walked, he realized that he had no token to give her. If he wanted to do this properly, he should have something to give her, but what? He looked around, wondering if he should sacrifice some coin and buy her a small trinket when his eyes fell on the field behind the market where wild flowers grew. There were lovely shades of pinks, reds, and purples; and Rumplestiltskin knew that they would be perfect for her. He strode past some of the stalls where men and women were calling out to him to sample and purchase their goods, but he ignored them and began scanning the field for the finest flowers of the bunch. He picked a small handful, enough to show the variety of types and colors but not enough that she would have to awkwardly carry them the entire night. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the small leather strap that he sometimes used to tie back his long hair when he was hard at work and tied the bunch together. It wasn't ideal, but it would do.

He turned back and walked for a few minutes toward her home near the middle of the village. It was not a fine house, but it was better than his. It was bigger, though not by much; and Rumple was again reminded of just how little he would be able to provide for her, should he ever gain enough courage to ask for her hand.

He came near the door, but before he could reach it, the door opened and Belle swept out, calling out a farewell to her father. She turned and started to see Rumplestiltksin standing there, the small bouquet clutched tightly in his grasp.

"You startled me!" She said with a laugh as she took a step toward him. He swallowed nervously and held out his hand, offering her the flowers.

"Um, here. If you'll have them," he said in a shaking voice. She smiled and took the flowers from him, holding them gently.

"Why, thank you," she said as she giggled and dipped into a small curtsey. Rumplestiltskin bowed slightly, her lightheartedness making him feel warm and relaxed. He had worried so much about what she would think that he hadn't taken the time to consider that she would actually _like_ his efforts at chivalry.

"I'm going to put these in some water," she said as she turned to go back inside. "I'll only be a moment."

He nodded and waited for her to return. He could hear her fumbling about inside, followed by a masculine grumble and light laughter. She returned, clutching a shawl that she had not had before and he noticed she now wore one of the pretty pink flowers in her hair. Rumple felt himself swell with pride, knowing that the flowers had pleased her. The flower in her hair was lovely, and he took it as a sign that she intended to remain close to him throughout the evening.

He offered her his arm, proud that he remembered to do so and she took it gladly. "Shall we?" He asked as he led her away from her home and toward the bustle of people that were enjoying the celebration.

They walked together for some time, and Rumplestiltskin allowed her to visit the booths that caught her eye, as he stood silently by her side as she looked at trinkets and talked to the vendors happily. He enjoyed watching her, clearly in her element. She was a social person and seemed to enjoy being around others. There was hardly a person she met that she did not at least bid good evening to, and he felt privileged that she had chosen to give him the special treat of being her solitary companion for the evening. Several young men approached her and spoke to her, often taking her hand and kissing it. Rumple would scowl at them, but to these young men he seemed invisible until Belle declined their offers to go with them. She looped her arm through Rumplestiltskin's, saying that she was quite happy with the company she was keeping.

The young men seemed downtrodden, but she offered them a smile and a polite nod, and it seemed enough to appease them for the time. Rumplestiltskin wondered why she did not go with some of them, especially the tall, brawny lad who towered over them both and was clearly one of the wealthier members of the village. But just as she had done with the other lads, she politely dismissed him, claiming Rumplestiltskin owed her a dance. She vowed she was not going to let go of him until he'd made good on his word.

"You did agree to dance with me," she reminded him as the tall lad stalked away from them.

He remembered. He knew how to dance, though he had not done so in many years. He hoped he would remember the steps and not make a fool out of himself – or embarrass Belle.

"I did," he agreed. "And I will."

She smiled. "Good."

The dancing began after night fell, when enough ale and sweet wine had been consumed to loosen the limbs and tongues of even the most stoic of residents. The musicians of the town, a group of about ten people playing a variety of instruments, played lighthearted songs. Children and adults alike danced around the large fire that had been set to provide light and warmth for those who wished to stay out deep into the night. Belle and Rumple were sat the fire, sharing a leg of lamb and some sweet wine. They took turns biting into the tender and seasoned meat. It was delicious, and Rumplstiltskin was glad to share another meal with Belle. He would gladly share all his meals with her if it meant she would be by his side.

They finished the leg, and Rumplestiltskin threw the bone into the fire, which caused the fire to crack and pop. Belle finished her small cup and waited for Rumplestiltskin to do the same. She stood, letting he shawl slide to the ground and grabbed his hand. "Let's dance!" She exclaimed as she pulled on his hand to tug him up off the grass.

The music changed as he stood and Belle smiled brightly. "I love this dance," she informed him. "Do you know it?"

He did, though he informed her that he may not be very good. She shrugged her shoulders and pulled his hand again, half dragging him into the dancing line. He kept an eye on the men beside him in an effort to remember the steps, and before long he was bouncing and skipping and twirling Belle around the fire, laughing as he went. The steps were simple enough and though he hadn't participated in the dancing in a long time, he fell easily into it, grasping Belle's hands at the proper moment and spinning her about. She laughed gaily throughout the entire set, and her joy was contagious. Rumplestiltskin laughed as well, and when the music stopped abruptly, they crashed into each other, laughing as she wound her arm around his waist to keep her upright.

"How fun!" She said, her eyes sparkling as brightly as the stars above them.

He was hot, sweating, and out of breath, but he couldn't agree more.

The music changed again, but this dance seemed to hold little interest to Belle. With a tilt of her head, she motioned for him to follow her away from the crowd. He took a step then paused and turned back to retrieve her shawl, then raced to catch up with her. She wrapped her arm around his and led them away from the crowd and toward the woods. With each step, the boisterous sounds from the people celebrating faded, and he realized quickly that he and Belle were very much _alone._

They walked until they came to a clearing, and Belle released his arm to move ahead. She stood and tilted her head up and Rumplestiltskin's gaze followed hers toward the sky. It was much darker away from the torches and large fires from the festival, and the stars glittered and twinkled happily from their seats in the sky. Rumplestiltksin moved to stand next to her, and together they watched the stars for a long, silent moment.

Without looking at him, Belle spoke, "I love to come look at the stars. They're so beautiful."

"You're much lovelier."

He hadn't meant to say the words and he froze as his eyes widened at his mistake. He cursed himself but tried to remain placid, hoping she would forgive him for speaking so boldly.

"Do you really think so?"

He glanced down then, and was startled to see her looking at him with such innocent hope that he could not stop himself from assuring her. He turned to face her and whispered, "You are by far the most beautiful woman I've ever met. The stars are nothing compared to you."

Even in the darkness, he could see her blush. Emboldened, whether from the rush of dancing with her, the wine, or the cover of night, he felt himself ready to tell her how much he cared about her and the consequences be damned.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she spoke first. "I-", she faltered. "Thank you, Rumplestiltskin," she whispered softly. "I'm glad you think I'm beautiful."

"You aren't just beautiful," he said hurriedly, wanting to separate himself from the fools that would only ever appreciate that part of her. "You are kind and smart. You're patient and hard-working and sweet. You're…wonderful." She smiled up at him as if she'd never heard the words before. If he had his way, he would tell her everyday how perfect she was.

"I'm pleased you agreed to spend the evening with me," she said after some time, her voice soft and almost shy.

"I'm pleased you actually seemed to enjoy an evening in my company."

"Of course I enjoyed your company," she declared. "I'd like to spend more time in your company, if you'd be all right with that."

"How could I be anything _bu_t all right?" He asked her earnestly. "You could have your choice of men to spend your time with, yet you ask me. I don't understand it, but I certainly won't complain."

"It's because I like you, you silly man," she stated plainly, as if it were a fact he should have long ago been aware of.

He stared at her, eyes growing wide. "You do?" He asked, unable to believe he'd heard her correctly. Even if she replied that she thought of him as a kind friend, it would be enough. Some small part of her heart belonged to him now; and even if it was all she ever gave him, it was more than he'd ever had before and he would cherish it deeply.

Instead of responding as he expected, Belle leaned up, resting her hands on his forearms and pressed her lips against his cheek in a gentle kiss. After resting there a moment she moved away, still blushing and smiling shyly.

He stood still, staring at her in surprise. Belle had kissed him. _Belle had kissed him!_ He touched his hand to the place where his cheek burned with the memory of her touch and a small breath escape him at the thought of what just happened. He felt his lips twitch, the beginning of a smile forming and he could see Belle's relief that she hadn't offended him with her forwardness.

As if any man in his right mind would be offended that such a beautiful creature had chosen to kiss him.

He couldn't speak, unable to form a thought coherent enough to turn into words. She continued to watch him and after a moment she giggled, clearly pleased at the affect she had on him.

"I do," she said after some time, "Like you. Very much."

"Oh, Belle," he breathed, unable to contain the fervor that was growing inside him. He had worried so much about whether or not he would be able to gain her affection that he had not thought about what to do once he had it. It had seemed like such an impossible dream; things like this didn't happen to him. That gave him pause.

"You know my reputation," he said suddenly, full of shame. "You must know what the village thinks of me. I'm the son of a coward; an outcast. I have nothing of value."

"I know your reputation," she agreed. "But I also know that Ebert hits his wife when he takes to the bottle and I know that Magdalene, the baker's wife is sleeping with men who are _not_ her husband. I know that my reputation is that I'm a strange, bookish girl who doesn't know her place." She reached out and rested her hand against his arm again.

"We all have reputations, Rumplestiltksin. Some are known by the whole village; some aren't. But I also know that Ebert, vile man that he is, sells fine goods and that Magdalene is just as good a baker as her husband. You think I'm beautiful and I think you're a good man who is more valuable than he realizes. We're all more than our reputations."

He took in her words, pushing aside his surprise that the baker's wife was unfaithful and his lack of surprise that Ebert was abusive. He had heard that Belle was strange – most women spent days cooking and cleaning and birthing sons. They didn't read books and help in legal matters. But even with those whispers in the air, many still agreed that Belle was quite lovely.

And that made her speech true. They were more than what the villagers said about them. She wasn't _just _bookish and lovely. He wasn't just an outcast. If she wanted to associate with him, he'd be an absolute fool to stop her.

But even still, there was one person whose opinion _did _matter.

"What of your father?" Rumplestiltskin asked. "Would he not disapprove?"

She shook her head. "Even if he does, it's my choice."

He smiled at her and she returned the gesture. After a moment she asked, "Perhaps I could teach you to read? It would benefit you tremendously. And it would be an excuse to spend time together." She paused and blushed. "If you want to learn, that is. I really am forward, aren't I?"

He laughed. "So long as you're there, I'll let you teach me to braid flowers into your hair, if you like."

She giggled and took a step closer to him. Tilting her head up, she whispered, "May I?" And he knew what she wanted.

He shook his head. "No. I think I would like to return the favor instead. If you'll permit me, that is," he added on quickly.

Her eyes sparkled and she tilted her head to the side, offering her cheek to him. He leaned down and pressed his lips gently against her skin, biting back a sigh as his dry lips touched the sweet softness of her cheek. She truly was perfection.

She shivered, and though he was unsure if it was from his kiss or the coolness of the night air, he took the shawl he still had draped over his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. She pulled it closer and smiled up at him in thanks.

"We should probably return," he said after a moment.

He had no desire to leave, but he knew it was for the best. "Yes," she said. "We probably should." She waited a moment then asked, "Could I come tomorrow to begin teaching you?" She asked quietly and he found himself nodding.

"Absolutely," he said. "I would like nothing more than to see you. And to learn too. Of course."

She smiled affectionately and wrapped her arm around his. Leaning her head on his shoulder, they waked back to the village together as Belle told him all about how wonderful it was to be able to read.

* * *

_Author's Notes: _

Hope you enjoyed!

Thank you for your comments, follows, and favorites! Each notice I get always brings a smile to my face.

Chapter 4 will be up November 8!

_Please see disclaimer in both chapters 1 and 2._


	4. C is for Courting

Chapter 4: C is for Courting

* * *

"Well done! Now let's try again."

Over the past week, Belle had come over every day with parchment, quill, ink, and a determination to teach Rumplestiltskin his letters. Prior to Belle's teaching, he had only learned enough to make scribbles that resembled the letters that spelled his name. He didn't know how to read the contracts he sometimes had to sign, and he knew that he could unknowingly sign away his every possession if someone decided to trick him. But Belle was here and he was grateful for her. He knew that Belle loved reading. She had mentioned that her home was filled with books, many of them coming from her father when he went away on business. It was tradition that he bring her a new book when he returned. She spoke about them with fondness and even brought over one or two to show Rumplestiltksin. She held them delicately, caressing the covers as if they were her children and she was soothing their troubles. It was fascinating to watch her eyes sparkle as she talked about the stories held within the rough parchment inside, and it made Rumplestiltskin eager to discover the stories for himself.

As much as he longed to read the stories that Belle spoke so fondly of, first he had to learn his letters, and then how to write. He couldn't wait to be able to write, and he had already begun dreaming of the letters he would write and give to Belle; but he knew that would come later. Instead, Belle began by teaching him the letters and what sounds they made and what words began with those letters. He felt absolutely stupid when he couldn't remember how a word was pronounced or what sound a letter made, but Belle was steadfast and patient, and after a week he could recognize over half the letters she showed him.

She held up the small piece of parchment that she had written the letter _A _on and asked him if he could tell her what letter it was and the sounds it made. He answered her correctly and was rewarded with a cry of delight as she clapped her hands. "Wonderful! All right, the next letter." He made his way down the list, smiling proudly when he was right. Belle seemed pleased with him and that was the perfect determination to learn as much as he could.

"You're doing so well," she encouraged him, "You're learning quickly."

If this was quick, he was amazed. He still felt stupid, but her praises were often enough to push away his insecurity. Before her words at the festival, he'd been convinced she would never truly want to be with someone who did not know how to read or write. But now that he knew she was fond of him, he was determined to improve himself so that he would be more suited for Belle. She deserved the best, and he would ensure that he became his absolute best if it meant she would choose him.

She held up the letter _A _again and said, "All right. Now I want you to tell me a word that starts with each letter. I'll help when needed."

He stared at the _A _for a moment then slowly said, "A-apple?"

She smiled and held up the _B_. "Belle," he said with a small grin. She giggled and swatted at him, then held up the letter _C. _"Kind," he responded and frowned when she shook her head.

"Some letters have similar sounds," she said. "Kind starts with a _K_. But, that was a good try. Can you give me another word?"

He sat and focused for a long time, trying to think of a proper word. After a moment he whispered, "Coward."

She dropped her hand and gave him a hard glare. "While that _is_ correct," she said firmly, "I don't want you using that word again. Try something else."

He stared at the letter for some time, trying to think of a word. He lowered his gaze to the table, then remembered the day she had first come to his home.

"Cake," he said, glancing up with hope.

She offered him a smile, but it did not quite reach her eyes. "Very good. Next one."

They worked for a few hours, and finally Belle's cheer came back as he continued to progress. She told him countless times how proud she was of him and at the end of the lesson she gave him a quick kiss on his cheek as a reward for his hard work. They both blushed; the gesture was simple yet so resonating. It would not do for someone to see her bestowing her kisses on his cheek. They were not wed. They were not even courting, and if they were caught exchanging even the chastest of kisses, Belle's reputation could be put in jeopardy. He knew she did not care for such things, but he cared about her, and the last thing he wanted was to inadvertently cause her harm.

A plan formed in his mind then, and before she left he asked if she would mind leaving the letters with him so that he could practice some more. She happily left them, as well as a quill, ink, and a spare piece of parchment. He bid her a good evening then sat down at his small table and began to copy her letters in a scratchy, messy handwriting, muttering the words those letters started with as he went.

He wanted to be perfect for her tomorrow, so he stayed up half the night repeating the letters aloud and remembering the right words that the letters were associated with. By the time he went to bed he had the entire list memorized and could recite at least two different words each for each letter. He had never felt so proud of himself before and he hoped that Belle would be just as proud of him.

~000~

The next day he woke early to ensure all his chores were complete before Belle arrived. He worked hard and fast, covering the sheep's wool with lanolin and preparing it to be spun. The batch he had done the day before was ready and he took to his wheel to spin, completing an entire spool's worth before Belle arrived.

He let her in and offered her a drink, which she gladly accepted. He poured a small amount of ale into a clay up and she took a grateful sip before asking how his private studying went.

"I feel good," he said at last. "I think you'll be pleased."

They made it through the list once and Belle laughed in delight when he answered every letter correctly. She stood and wrapped her arms around him in a hug and he sighed pleasantly as he held his hands politely at her hips, not daring to press closer to her the way he desired.

She returned to her seat and asked if he would like to do it one more time before they moved on. She claimed he was ready for more challenging work, and he agreed. She shuffled through the cards and held up the _A. _

"Arm," he said, pointing to his own.

She smiled and held up the _B. "_Beautiful," he said, offering her a small smile.

She blushed but said nothing, instead holding up the _C_ card.

"Courting," he said resolutely.

She paused and blinked. "What?"

He cleared his throat and grabbed the legs of his chair, pulling it closer to her. "Courting," he repeated. "C is for courting, which I would very much like for us to do."

Her mouth hung open in a half smile as she regarded him curiously for a moment. After a moment, her lips turned up into a true grin and she let out a breathy laugh. "You want to court me?" She asked in slight surprise.

He nodded and waited for her answer. He bit at his lip, wondering why she hadn't said anything. Surely he hadn't misread her? He'd been certain that she would say yes; she offered him her affections freely, but now he began to wonder, his fear that she would reject him growing by the moment. She began shuffling through the letters, and Rumplestiltskin watched her with curiosity. Was she ignoring his question? She held up the _Y_ and said, "What word starts with this letter?"

Other than _yellow _and_ yarn,_ he had no idea what to say. He didn't understand. He'd thought of a clever way to ask her to court him, and she was still doing their lesson. Maybe she was skipping though the letters so they would finish and she could make her excuses and leave. He glanced down in defeat and gave her a small shrug, which seemed to amuse her.

She reached over with the hand that wasn't holding the letter and touched his. "Yes," she whispered.

He blinked up at her in surprise. "What?"

Smiling gently, she repeated, "Y is for yes. As in, yes, Rumplestiltskin, I'd like you to court me."

Had he not been so stunned, he would have leapt from his seat with a wild shout, whooping and cheering and dancing around his small shack in radiant joy. But his surprise kept him in check and he remained where he was, simply staring at her in complete disbelief. He could hardly believe it had worked, and he had no idea what to do now she had said yes. Completely at a lost, he gave up and laughed, the sound soft and breathy as he allowed her answer to sink in. "You will?" He asked, his tone tight from the sheer excitement and fire that burned through him.

She nodded, her smile wide and her eyes bright, "I will."

He reached out his hand to her, then stopped himself. Was he allowed to hug her? She had bestowed affection upon him, but should he act upon his desires and hold her to him? She sensed his hesitation and stood, pulling him up to his feet and wrapped her arms around his waist. His arms looped loosely around her shoulders and he rested his cheek against the top of her head, the pleasant feeling of someone so close a true delight. The warmth she radiated surrounded him and he'd never felt so good before.

After a moment, a thought occurred to him and he pulled back slightly, staring at her with a frown. "I should speak with your father."

She hummed in agreement. "Yes," she said, "It is the…proper…thing to do." She laughed, "But it probably would be for the best. He is a bit protective of me."

Rumplestiltskin swallowed thickly and nodded. "Perhaps I could visit him tomorrow?"

"So eager to court me?" She teased, and Rumplestiltskin grabbed her hand instinctively.

"Very."

That sobered Belle, and she squeezed his hand in reassurance. "Come to dinner tomorrow," she offered, "You can speak to him then."

He agreed and she smiled, leaning close to him. "I was hoping you would ask me the night of the festival," she admitted. "But better late than never I suppose." She laughed and winked at him, causing him to flush and stutter an apology for not asking her sooner.

"It's all right," she told him, "I'm just glad you asked me. I know what everyone says about you, but it always made me wonder why they never took the time to get to know you. I should have spoken to you sooner and I don't know what held me back. But then, we bumped into each other that day, and I took it as a sign from the gods that this was my chance to get to know you. I wasn't going to waste my chance."

"I always wanted to speak to you. But I never thought you would be interested in a poor spinner like me."

"Well, I am," she insisted gently. "Very much so."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad."

She giggled and they smiled at each other, enjoying the simple pleasure of being together. Things were moving quickly, he realized; but he would have it no other way. She had only truly been in his life a little over a week, and already he longed for the day that she would walk through his door and never have to leave again. She was old enough to marry, and he began to calculate in his mind how long it would be proper to wait after gaining permission from her father to court her before returning to ask for her hand.

He'd often thought himself a fool for hoping that he would find someone who saw him as more than a coward's son, but he had found it in Belle. He could already imagine their future together, and it filled him with a joy that he'd never known before. He hadn't even gotten her father's permission yet, but he was still the happiest of men. Just knowing how she felt was more than enough to satisfy him for a lifetime. He paused at that thought. No, he realized. It would not be enough. He was tired of _enough_. He was tired of settling for whatever he could get and hoping that one day his luck would turn. Belle was the turn of his luck, and he was going to take full advantage of the confidence her affection produced in him. He felt like a man, not simply flesh and bone; but he felt like a man should feel: strong, proud, and eager to provide for those he cared for. He was coming into his own, and all it had taken was the simple validation from the petite young woman standing before him.

"I'll see you tomorrow for dinner?" She asked, waiting for him to confirm once more that he would be there.

"Assuming your father allows me into his home," Rumple said softly. Belle placed her hand on his shoulder and smiled encouragingly at him. "He will."

"You seem certain."

"I'm always certain."

She smiled mischievously and he realized she was teasing. He loved that about her; she could be so light and carefree and her joy was infectious. She moved away and pulled on the small cloak she'd removed earlier and blew him a kiss, her eyes bright with amusement at his surprise. "Until then, Rumplestiltskin," she whispered before slipping out the door and into the fading light of day.

"Until then," he whispered, his voice as light as the air he spoke to.

He cleaned up the mess they'd made during their lesson, putting her parchment, letters, and quill in his travel basket so that he would remember to take them to her tomorrow. He stripped his clothing, deciding that for the second time in two weeks he would bathe. It was, as it was with many things, not a luxury he often enjoyed, but he was trying to make an impression and the last thing he wanted was to show up at Belle's home reeking of lanolin and sheep and general filth.

He crawled into his bed and fell asleep quickly, not allowing himself to worry over what Belle's father would say when asked to court her properly. The worst her father could say was no, he reasoned, and he had a feeling Belle wouldn't take that for an answer.

~000~

Despite his ease the night before, the next day he did worry. He now felt the fear that he was used to feeling come over him with full force. He fretted about what he would say, how he would say it, and what he would do if her father _did_ say 'no'. He could not bear to think of what he would do if he was denied the one thing he truly wanted – the only thing he truly wanted in this world – and the worry had him so nervous and shaking that he found he was completely useless at his spinning needed steady hands for his trade and his nerves were so worked up that he could barely lift his hand without it trembling like a leaf in a storm.

Resigning himself to a day of being unproductive, he trudged down to the creek and collected a bucket of water to use for bathing. He returned home and poured some of the water into the small kettle over the fire to heat it, then dipped a rag in the warm water. He washed off quickly, pouring water over his head, shivering at the cooling water. He shook his head like a wet dog, droplets of water flying everywhere and he dropped his old shirt into the water to let it soak. He pulled on his clean shirt, grateful that he'd quickly gotten into the habit of washing them more often now that he had a lovely young woman visiting frequently

He sat at the table and broke off a small piece of bread and nibbled at it, finding that his stomach was too full of nerves to properly handle any food. He continued to nibble anyway, knowing he needed to at least have something small to keep him from feeling weak with hunger. As he ate, he thought about what he would say, what he would do. He was desperate for things to go well. He'd been offered a sliver of hope; he'd tasted the sweetness that life could offer and now he craved for more. He craved Belle. He lowered his head to rest on the table and asked the gods to grant him favor for once in his life.

~0~

Rumple stood at the front door to Belle's home and took a trembling breath. He knocked softly, not wanting to do anything at all to annoy Belle's father. He hoped that Belle would answer the door so he would not have to immediately face her father, and to his quiet relief she did. Belle smiled at him and ushered him inside. She took his cloak and hung it on a hook on the wall. Rumple glanced around the home, taking in the small but spacious room, warm and bright with a fire that roared proudly in the hearth. Belle ushered him over to the table in the middle of the room where three plates and cups were laid out. "Papa is outside, roasting a chicken," she explained. "He should return with it any moment."

The thought of a roasted chicken leg was enough to make Rumplestiltskin's stomach begin to growl, and he clamped his hand over it as if the gesture would make the sound stop. He sighed heavily and prayed Belle had not heard. "Relax," she said, noticing his unease, "Papa only does this on _very_ special occasions."

Wondering what could make his visit so special, Rumplestiltskin sat idly for a moment, unsure of what to do. Did he offer to go help her father? Did he want to be alone with the man before he had determined the type of mood he was in? He barely knew Maurice. The man was a scribe as well as a notary and helped people in all manner of ways in the village. His daughter had clearly taken after him, helping teach others how to read and write.

The door on the other end of the room opened and Maurice walked in, carrying a pan with a roasted chicken. Rumple took in the man as he approached. He was large and burly, but not overly. His hair was short and combed back, greying at the temple. His face was lined with the beginnings of wrinkles but he did not look as if he were older than his late forties. His face was thick and his eyes were friendly and he offered Rumplestiltskin a stiff smile as he placed the pan in the center of the table.

Rumplestiltskin met his eyes and smiled back. The suspicion came over him that Maurice knew why he was here. Standing up quickly, he held his hand out to the other man. "Good evening, sir," he said keeping his voice steady, despite his nervousness. "I'm Rumplestiltskin."

Maurice took his hand and shook it briefly before letting go to grab a knife to begin carving the chicken. "And you have eyes for my daughter," he said plainly, causing Belle to drop something behind them and mutter embarrassedly, "Papa!"

Rumplestiltskin gulped and nodded, unsure if he was meant to confirm or deny Maurice's accusation. He feared suddenly that if he admitted to it, her father would use the knife to carve _him_ instead of the chicken for even thinking he was good enough for Belle.

Maurice chuckled at his daughter's embarrassment. "I apologize, my girl."

She brought over the bread and some dried fruit and Maurice dropped a large chunk of chicken onto Rumplestiltskin's plate. "Eat up, Spinner," he said. "Belle was right when she said you were as thin as a bean pole."

Rumplestiltskin's face grew hot, and he did as he was told.

Dinner was an enjoyable affair, much to Rumplestiltskin's surprise. Other than Maurice's earlier joke about him having eyes for his daughter, not another word about the subject was spoken, for which he was grateful. He didn't know if he could handle Maurice's rejection in front of Belle, but he was also growing increasingly nervous of the thought of asking to speak to him alone. He was not a fearsome fellow, but he was the father of the woman Rumplestiltskin sought to court, and that was enough to make the portly scribe more terrifying than any scary story he'd heard as a child.

They finished their meal and Rumplestiltskin complimented Maurice on the cooking. Maurice merely smirked and turned to Belle, instructing her to take a bucket down to the creek to collect some more water for them to wash the dishes later. Bowing her head, she did as she asked, retrieving her cloak and the wooden pail before offering both men a small smile and exiting.

Rumplestiltskin bit at his lip. He was alone with her father and all the words he'd rehearsed in his head earlier suddenly left him. Any courage he'd built up throughout the evening seemed to vanish with Belle, and he sat there frozen and foolish, trying to figure out what he was going to do now that he had the chance.

Oh, how he hated being a coward. He did not deserve Belle.

Grunting and picking up the empty plates, Maurice spoke first. "Belle tells me you asked her to court you." It was a simple statement and his voice betrayed nothing, but Rumplestiltskin couldn't help but feel terror well up inside him. Choking it back down, he nodded and replied, "Y-yes, sir."

"And now do you have something to ask me?"

Again, Rumplestiltskin nodded. "I-I do," he stuttered. He paused, trying to keep his voice even and spoke, "I'd like to have your permission to court Belle, please. Sir."

Maurice turned to face him and where Rumplestiltskin had expected to see a harsh stare, there was only a humored smirk. "So far, you're the fourth young man to come asking for my daughter's hand."

Rumplestiltskin did not like the sound of that.

Maurice continued, "But you are the only one that she has ever declared interest in."

Rumplestiltskin's eyebrow's raised in surprise.

"It is my belief that no one in this village is good enough for my daughter. But I've always promised myself that if Belle found a man she cared for, I would not stop her. So far, she's come to me and asked me to tell the young men no. Yesterday, however," he said as he grabbed two mugs and a jar of ale, "She came to me and asked me to say yes. You can imagine my surprise that my daughter had finally become interested in someone."

Maurice poured the ale into the mugs and approached Rumplestilskin. He placed one down in front of him, then took a drink from his own. Swallowing, Maurice continued, "I've never seen my girl so taken with someone; she's always been more fond of her books and studying the trade with me. But I suppose it had to happen at some point."

He cleared his throat and moved to face Rumplestiltskin more directly. "So, what I want to know is this: If I do as my daughter wishes and allow you to court her, what will she get out of it? What can you offer her?"

Rumplestiltskin sat still and silent for a long moment, mulling over the question. Finally he met Maurice's gaze and answered truthfully, "I don't have much, sir. But I do care for your daughter. I cannot offer her riches or books, but I can offer her a home, small though it may be. I can offer her my heart. I can offer her respect and love and kindness. That's all I have, really."

"Leave the books to me," Maurice said simply, "As long as you treat her well, care for her and love her, then I'll gladly see her court you." He smiled and chuckled softly to himself. "Though even if I said no, she would still find ways to see you. She's a stubborn one when she wants to be."

"So-so you…approve, then?" Rumplestiltskin asked hesitantly, wanting to ensure he understood exactly what her father was saying.

"My daughter knows what she wants," he explained. "And I'm an old fool who will see to it that she has whatever she wants; which other than books, is very little. I know who you are, Rumplestiltskin. I know what is said about you. But I know my daughter and she can see the best in people. She claims you are a hard worker and I believe it. I respect that in a man, no matter what else is known about him. You're too poor to afford to drink, so I know that my girl is safe from that kind of life. She's never had much, and she still won't with you, but if she's happy then I see no reason to say no."

He leaned forward then, his face alarmingly close to Rumplestiltskin's. "But be warned, Spinner. Hurt her, and you'll rue the day you stepped into my home."

"I would _never _hurt her, sir," he swore.

Maurice leaned back and rested his hands on his large belly. "Good."

At that, the door opened and Belle waltzed in, humming as she carried a bucket of water. Rumplestiltskin wondered if she'd been listening at the door or if she simply had impeccable timing. He would have to ask her later. "So what did the two of you speak of while I was gone?" She asked cheerfully, feigning ignorance as she transported some of the water from the bucket to a kettle, which she then placed over the fire.

"I was just giving Rumplestiltskin my blessing to court you."

Rumplestiltskin never saw someone move so quickly. She was at her father's side in an instant, hugging him tightly and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, thank you, Papa!" She whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. He took her hands and held them steadily in his. "You must obey the proper etiquette in this," he gently chided. "I know your opinions on such things, but whether you agree or not, it is the way things are, and I will not have your reputation tarnished by you spending your days locked in his home teaching him to read. You will meet here, or somewhere publicly, and you will do nothing that is deemed improper. Is that understood?"

Belle blushed furiously and Rumplestiltskin wondered if it were from the topic at hand, or that she was being scolded by her father in front of him. He felt embarrassed by the former, wanting to keep any and all thoughts of what was improper from his head. He knew what was not allowed for couples who were not wed. But he was also well aware that it was becoming more and more common for couples to disregard such rules, often finding a thrill in sneaking off for a moment alone, the act itself almost as thrilling as the risk of being caught. But he was a bit older than Belle and had been brought up in the ways that dictated utmost respect, propriety, and chasteness until the couple entered the marriage bed. And if that was all Maurice expected of him in courting his daughter, he would be damned if he did anything to the contrary.

Belle acquiesced to her father's comments and asked if they could have their lessons here instead. "You'll be here, Papa," she reasoned, "And Rumplestiltskin is doing very well. I don't wish to postpone our lessons simply because people might talk about us."

Maurice nodded. "That is up to Rumplestiltskin. He no doubt has his own work to do and cannot simply drop everything because you want to play school."

"I can spare a few evenings," Rumplestiltskin spoke up softly, shrinking down in his seat ever so slightly when both father and daughter turned to look at him. "Perhaps two nights a week?"

"That would be acceptable," Maurice agreed before pushing his chair back and standing. "Now, I have some documents to go over before I retire. Belle, I expect you to see him off at a decent hour and then go to bed. Am I understood?"

She nodded obediently. "Yes, Papa."

"Good," he picked up a candle from the shelf above their small fire place and lit it before placing it in a holder. "Good evening to you both," he said before he moved out of the room and into what Rumplestiltskin could only assume was his bedroom. The makeshift door that divided the rooms snapped shut, leaving them alone in the soft light of the fire.

Belle turned and beamed at him. "We're courting," she said gently as she came to stand beside him.

He rose and turned to face her, a genuine smile spreading his lips wide. "We're courting," he repeated dazedly as he reached down to take her hand. He lifted it and pressed her knuckles to his lips in a hesitant kiss, amazed at how much had changed since his birthday. He'd awoke that morning thinking his life would never get any better.

Now he realized not only _could_ get better; it _had. _

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Thank you everyone for the reviews and kind words!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! It's my favorite so far.

Chapter 5 will be posted November 15!

See author's notes in chapters 1 & 2 for the disclaimer.


	5. Words

Chapter 5: Words

* * *

Rumplestiltskin had never been happier. His days were still filled with work and chores, traversing the several miles to purchase wool from Hagan which he then prepared, spun, wound, and sold to Ebert, who continued to berate him for his existence. He would tidy his home, doing his best to keep the shabby place as immaculate as the spinsters who raised him had kept it. He took pride in his home – he always had – but now he awoke with a deeper appreciation and love for all he had. Belle seemed to have that effect on him.

He spent more evenings with Belle now. Sometimes she would visit him, which always left him sputtering nonsense and insisting that they quickly make their way to some public place so that her virtue was not questioned. She would simply laugh, take his arm, and drag him into the town square where they would walk slowly and talk about whatever came to mind. They never noticed the people who stared at them. Their eyes were only for each other and they were deaf to the whispers that fluttered around them as they passed by.

On nights when she did not surprise him in his home, he was at hers, learning to read and write as Belle laughed and cheered him on. He was her most prized student, she declared; and he could only blush and strive to write the next word with a sturdier hand. He had always been a smart man, though he'd never been given much opportunity to develop or learn anything beyond the means to survive. He was learning to read and write for pleasure, and it was indeed a pleasure to make sense of the words upon a page. There was also pleasure in how Belle rewarded him for his success. She would rub his arm or shoulders, and sometimes she could press a quick kiss upon his cheek in her excitement when he accomplished something difficult. He still became flustered if she showed him affection, though he was sure that was partly due to her father being a few feet away from them.

Maurice noticed, too. He trusted his daughter, and he knew the spinner was cowardly enough not to try anything that would risk Belle's reputation; but his fatherly instincts led him to sit on the small chair by the fireplace, pretending to read while he ensured his daughter remained safe. He would watch with pride as Belle instructed Rumplestiltskin with a patience he would never have had with anyone. She hovered over the spinner, reading off words and making Rumplestiltskin write them down. He admired his daughter's love of knowledge and was proud of the initiative she took upon herself to educate others. She had been fortunate, to grow up with a father who had gained much privilege in his service to the kingdom. He had retired to raise his daughter after her mother died, and he'd brought his strict discipline, his books, and his unconditional love with him. He was pleased that he had instilled he latter two into his only child. Knowledge and love were precious things, and he'd hoped one day he would raise up a young woman who would willingly share them with others. Maurcie knew, watching his daughter with the man who had gained her affections, that he had succeeded.

But he knew that his daughter was viewed upon as strange. Women were not valued for more than their ability to bear children, and Belle was not the type of woman to settle for a life of being nothing more than a man's brood mare. He knew his daughter was considered the beauty of the village, but it was the only trait for which she was revered. Most men were intimidated by her cleverness, though that did not deter some brave souls from seeking him out in the effort of claiming Belle's hand. As he had told Rumplestiltskin, Belle was always aware of who intended to seek her hand, and she'd always made it clear to her father that she would not have anyone who did not value her for all she was. Maurice had swelled with pride when his daughter claimed she would only marry for love. Many in the village could not afford that luxury. If love came from a marriage, it was a rare blessing. Maurice had been lucky. He'd married a young girl who was practically thrown at him in an effort to save the family farm, and she'd been just thirteen. They'd quickly grown to love each other and he'd truly mourned her when she passed. He knew from his own experience that love could grow out of even the most unlikely of places, and he knew love did not touch two people the same way. And with that he vowed to allow his daughter the freedom to choose her own husband, no matter what it cost. If she never chose, he would not begrudge her that choice. It seemed though, as he watched Belle sit down next to the spinner and take his free hand in hers, the two of them scooting closer so that their knees practically touched, that she had finally found someone worth choosing.

"I think you've got it," he heard her say as she studied the parchment he had written on. "By the gods, I think you truly do have it!"

"Belle," Maurice's dry voice called out at her exclamation.

She giggled and lowered her voice to whisper to Rumplestiltskin, "I think your efforts deserve a reward."

He felt his cheeks flush. "What sort of reward?" He asked hopefully, keeping his voice as low as possible.

"Say good night to my father and you'll find out."

Rumplestiltskin stood and stretched his back slightly before walking over to shake Maurice's hand, as he did every time he left. "Thank you, sir," he said politely. Though he did not stand, Maurice reached out and took Rumplestiltskin's hand in his.

"Good night, Rumplestiltskin," Maurice said with a slight nod before releasing his hand and picking up his book to continue reading.

"I'll see him out, Papa," Belle declared as she grabbed her shawl, not giving her father time to stop her.

They walked outside, the cool air sending shivers over them. Belle moved to stand closer to Rumplestiltskin and he looked down at her in surprise. Hope filled him and he waited anxiously, hoping she would kiss him. "I'm very proud of you," she said sweetly, reaching out to take his hand and squeezing it gently. "We'll start reading a book next time instead of just pointing out different words."

"I look forward to it."

He did, truly, but he looked forward to spending time in Belle's presence far more. He was grateful for all that he'd learned. He found himself sounding out words on a regular basis, amazed that there were so many things he could now understand. He felt like there was nothing he couldn't do now that he had the power of words.

"So do I," she agreed, her voice but a soft whisper. They stood for a moment, and Rumplestiltskin began to wonder if she'd only been joking about a reward. She put his fears to rest when she spoke again, "Would you like your prize now?" She asked coyly.

"Very much," he said, his voice low and growing breathy.

She smiled and leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. He did not move as she backed away, glancing at him curiously. She found, to her amusement, that he appeared frozen. His eyes were still closed and his lips still slightly puckered, as if her touch had turned him to stone. He blinked after a moment, then opened his eyes to stare at her, his eyebrows raising far up on his forehead.

"I-Th-Wh-Thank….you," he cursed himself for stuttering like a fool, but she'd left him utterly dumbfounded. As wonderful as her hesitant kiss to his cheek had been, this was by far the most incredible thing she'd given him.

She laughed, then slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

"Thank you," he said again, wishing he could think of something else to say.

"You earned it," she declared, then let go of his hand and stepped toward the door. "Good night, Rumplestiltskin."

"Good night, my dear."

He caught the sight of her blush just as the door shut. Smiling to himself, he turned and walked on air the entire way home.

~0~

The market was more crowded than normal. Rumplestiltskin pushed his way through to the end of the row where Ebert stood chewing on a piece of salted ham and hard bread and Rumple watched in disgust as crumbs fell into his beard. A few villagers were standing at his stall perusing the various materials he had for sale and Rumplestiltskin moved over to the side, out of the way. He placed his basket on the counter and began pulling out the spindles of wool.

"What do you think yer doin'?" Ebert growled.

"G-getting out the wool," Rumplestiltskin said shakily, wondering what had come over the man. He was normally a hateful pig, but his mood seemed worse today, and Rumplestiltksin could only fathom why.

"Well be quick about it," he snarled. "I got payin' customers here an' I don't want you scarin' em off with yer ugly mutt."

Resisting the urge to point out that the two ladies at his booth seemed more disgusted with the vendor than himself, Rumplestiltskin handed the several spools of wool over to Ebert who felt them and eyed them carefully, even going so far as to sniff them. Grunting in annoyance, Ebert grabbed a silver coin and tossed it carelessly at Rumplestiltskin who fumbled to catch it. He shoved the piece into his pocket and nodded.

"Thank you," he said tersely, deciding he was not going to comment about how grateful he was that he'd received so much for his goods. Ebert grunted in response, after taking a bite of bread that was far too big to properly fit in his mouth, then he turned and began telling the women about the material he wished to sell them, oblivious of the crumbs he spewed as he spoke. Shuddering in disgust, Rumplestiltskin turned and made his way through the market, filling his basket with some simple foods that would last for some time. He purchased more bread and cheese, dried fruit, a small jug of sweet wine, and a cake from the bakery. He still had plenty of shillings left over after he finished, and he looked forward to returning home and dropping them into the little clay cup where he was saving for a now promising future.

He was going to meet Belle again tonight, and his thoughts wandered back to the night before. It had only been a few hours since she'd bestowed upon him that wonderful kiss and he could hardly wait to please her again with his reading. Maybe she would reward him again! Perhaps her father would retire to his room if he stayed late enough and they would be free to share a kiss in the light of the fire, where Rumplestiltksin would be able to properly see her lovely flushed cheeks as she moved away from him. Rumplestiltskin rushed home, excited to get the day's work over with so that he might move on to more enjoyable ventures.

~000~

That evening Belle greeted him at her door, but instead of inviting him inside, she grabbed her cloak off the hook and slipped outside, calling out to her father that they would be back soon. She slipped her arm in his and he gave her a questioning look. "What are we doing?" He asked hesitantly, glancing back in fear that her father might rush outside and demand to know what was going on.

"I thought we could take a walk," she explained as she pulled him along. "It's a lovely evening. We can read when we get back."

He did not argue with her; there would be no point. Instead he rested his other hand on hers and allowed her to guide him toward the square. They spoke softly to one another, Belle laughing at his quips and Rumplestiltskin listening intently as she spoke of a number of things. Soon they were oblivious to everything around them but each other. Rumple listened, transfixed, as Belle began to talk about the book she was currently reading. It was her favorite, she declared, a fictional tale about a princess and monsters and a prince in disguise.

"Sounds interesting," he said. And it did sound interesting. Everything Belle said was interesting and he looked forward to being able to discuss her books with her.

"It's wonderful," Belle said firmly. "I think you'll enjoy it."

"I'm sure if you enjoy it then it's worth reading," he proclaimed, proud of the compliment he'd paid and even prouder of the smile his words produced.

"I'm not sure if it's because I'm teaching you," she laughed, "But you certainly have a way with words!"

"_How can she bare to be in his presence?" _

"_Never mind him; what about her? She's so strange. Thinks she's better than most because she can read." _

Rumplestiltskin stopped, his words dead on his tongue, and Belle glanced at him before looking over to two women who were sitting outside the pub, talking far too loudly. Rumplestiltskin felt anger well up inside him at hearing someone speak ill of his Belle, but he knew it would do nothing to speak up, so he tugged on Belle's arm and said, "Come along, Belle. Let's head back."

"Hey, spinner!" They paused, and Rumple turned his head slightly to see a young man approach him. Belle tensed beside him, and he glanced down at her in concern. "Yeah, I'm talkin' to you!" The lad said again, and Rumple turned completely to face the boy.

"What makes you think you're good enough for the likes of her?" The boy asked, his long, nasty hair falling into his eyes. He was taller than Rumplestiltskin, and terribly thin, but his arms held the hint of muscle from working long days of hard labor.

"Look at you," the boy said, reaching out to push at Rumplestiltskin. "You think you actually _deserve_ to have a woman at your side? You're nothing but the son of a coward. Your own Pa didn't even want you, what makes you think she would-"

"Wilmar," Belle hissed suddenly. "Hold your tongue, you barbarian!"

"Ah, so you _can_ talk," Wilmar said with a sneer. "I thought you didn't know how, considerin' you would never talk to me." He chuckled then glanced back at Rumplestiltskin, "And you. You're so pathetic you need your little whore to stand up for you, eh?"

Belle gasped, and Rumplestiltskin felt his hand ball into a fist. He felt hot, the fury within him from years of insults boiling inside. He could feel his restraint stretching, and it was going to break at any moment. He needed to get out of there before he did something he would end up regretting. He needed to get Belle away. She was what mattered here. He took a step back, ready to turn and walk away, but Wilmar carried on.

"Well, that's the only reason you're with him, ain't it?" Wilmar asked, fixing his gaze upon Belle. His voice was raised to draw as much attention as possible, and a small crowd began to form around them. Wilmar thrived on being the center of attention, and it was clear he enjoyed the strife he was causing. Spurred on by the rush he felt he continued, "You screwed him, and now you're stuck with him. Aren't ya? No one else'd have you anyway, and now you-"

"Shut up."

Wilmar paused and looked cheekily at Rumplestiltskin. "What did you say to me?"

"I-I said," Rumplestiltskin stuttered as he stepped forward to face the lad, "Shut up. You sh-shouldn't speak to a lady like that."

"Pfft, she ain't no lady!" Wilmar laughed.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed. "A-and you're no man."

Wilmar's laughter stopped instantly and he placed a piercing gaze on the spinner. "What did you say?"

Rumplestiltskin trembled but pressed on, determined to defend Belle.. "Wh-what sort of man speaks that way about a woman? You are a r-rude and hateful boy wh-who doesn't deserve someone like Belle."

Rumplestiltskin was going to continue, scared though he was, but before he could speak again, he heard a roar and then felt a fist connect with his face, leaving him reeling. Rumplestiltskin swayed and collapsed to the ground; his head spinning and throbbing. He could hear laughter, and Belle calling out his name, but he could not focus enough to properly sort out what was being said. He grasped at his head, which he could already feel bruising, and groaned as everything became a haze around him of swirling, blurry colors and the sounds fading to distant buzzes in his ears.

He could tell that something else had happened, for the crowd that was roaring had suddenly gone silent. He couldn't open his eyes but he could hear Belle, though her voice was distorted. After a moment he felt himself being lifted from the ground. He did not know what was happening or where he was going; he only knew that everything was growing darker, and if it would make the pain go away, he would gladly embrace its quiet warmth.

~000~

When he came to, he was lying on a bed in a room he did not recognize. He groaned and tried to turn his head, but the pounding and swirling instantly returned and he forced himself to remain still. He shut his eyes for a moment, but a sound from the other end of the room, far louder and painful than it should have been, caused him to blink his eyes open. He was surprised to see Belle approaching him with a small basin and a rag.

"What-" He tried to speak, but the sound of his own voice was far too loud, so he stopped, groaning in pain.

She sat the basin on the small table next to the bed and dipped the rag into the water. Ringing it out, she touched the cloth to this head, which caused him to flinch.

"Shh," she gently whispered as she dabbed at the spot where his head pounded the most.

"That was an incredibly stupid thing you did," she scolded softly, but Rumplestiltskin was so grateful that she wasn't shouting that he would gladly allow her to curse him for his actions, which he barely even remembered.

"What happened?"

"You smarted off to Wilmar so he punched you," she informed him, and the memories came flooding back, causing him to groan again.

"I can't believe I did that," he whispered, slightly in awe of himself. He wasn't one to stand up to others; he was content to let them say what they willed and move on. Showing that their words had no effect on him was far easier than confronting people and proving that they did.

"Well, it was incredibly stupid," she remarked again. He felt her touch his cheek and tilt his head in her direction. He opened his eyes again to look at her and was met with a sweet smile. "But I'm glad you did it."

She leaned down, brushed her lips against his, then pulled back and gently ghosted her lips over his temple. "It was very sweet of you," she said as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "No one has ever done that for me before."

"What, gotten clobbered?" He asked with a groan as he reached up to clasp her hand. She winced, but before Rumple could question her she removed her hand and brushed it against his cheek.

"Stood up for me."

"Belle," he whispered.

"Shh," she shushed him. "Rest. Papa said you can stay here tonight. He was quite proud that you defended my honor. It meant a lot to him."

She finished cleaning the area and brushed her lips against his temple one last time before gathering up the basin and slipping out of the room. He fell asleep almost instantly, as the thudding in his head lulling him into a dreamless slumber.

When he awoke the next morning, the headache had mostly passed, but he could feel the slight dull ache from where his eye was undoubtedly blackened. He reached up to touch his eye, wincing when a surge of pain shot through him. "Shite," he grumbled, then looked up in surprise when he heard Maurice cough.

"Hope you don't use that language in front of Belle," he smirked.

Holding his hand to his eye he replied, "No, sir."

"Good."

Maurice approached him and sat down on the chair Belle occupied the night before. "I sent Belle down to get some water," he explained. "Poor girl didn't sleep a wink all night. Probably came in here to check on you at least a dozen times."

"I'm sorry I made her worry so," Rumplestiltskin apologized as he blinked several times in an effort to clear his vision.

"Oh don't apologize," Maurice said with a wave of his hand. "You did what any man ought to do. You screwed your courage and stood up for my daughter. I find that commendable."

"Thank you," Rumplestiltskin whispered gratefully.

Maurice stood, groaning as he did so. "You stay here as long as you need," he said, "The least I can do is let you heal up."

Maurice stood but Rumple called out to him softly. He turned to look at Rumplestiltskin. "Has he bothered her before?"

Maurice returned to the seat and sat down heavily. "He was the first boy to ask for Belle's hand," Maurice said. "He's a hard worker, but he's vain and rude and disrespectful. Belle never liked him much. He's had eyes for her since they were children. Never understood her love of books, but that never seemed to be a real problem until she asked me to refuse him. Now any chance he gets he tries to upset her. He's just sore that she sees him for who he really is." Maurice shrugged and offered Rumplestiltskin a cryptic smile. "I have a feeling he'll keep his mouth shut for a while now."

Before Rumple had a chance to ask what he meant, Maurice stood again and left the room, leaving Rumplestiltskin alone with his thoughts. He didn't know Wilmar well, but he knew of him. The boy was cocky and enjoyed bringing others down to lift himself up. His band of friends found his antics greatly entertaining. He wished he'd known Belle was having issues with the boy sooner. He could have been more aware and kept her away from him when they were out, but now he knew. He'd confronted the lad over his remarks to Belle and gotten quite the beating for his efforts. He'd done his best to help Belle and would gladly take Wilmar's fist to his other eye if it meant making Belle smile.

Belle returned not long after and fixed him a small plate of bread and cheese. He ate slowly, each movement of his jaw causing his head to throb. Belle stayed by his side and Rumple was grateful for her kindness. She used a wet rag to wipe at the bruise again, taking great care not to cause him pain. When she was done she pulled out the book they'd been speaking of and began to read to him. Her voice was soft and gentle, a caress over his soul that made all the pain from his head dissipate until all he could focus on was her.

He remained there until late afternoon before decided it would be best for him to return home. It was only a blackened eye – he had yet to see how bad it looked – and though Belle was obviously upset by his decision to leave, she said nothing and allowed him to go. She pressed a kiss to his lips when her father wasn't looking and insisted that she walk him home. He took her shoulders in his hands and told her that he didn't want her going out alone, not after what happened the day before but she glared at him and told him she would come by later to check on him, whether he liked it or not. He knew better than to argue with her and so he made her promise to be careful, then with one last kiss he was on his way.

He walked slowly with his head down, partly to hide his face and partly because even the fading sun was too bright. He wondered about what had happened after he blacked out because he could not remember anything but pain. He hadn't asked her and she'd never offered any information while she cared for him. He reflected on Maurice's sly comment and a part of him had the suspicion that something else had happened.

Curiosity got the best of him, as he made his way through the market and toward the pub where he knew the lad frequented. He noticed Wilmar sitting outside, nursing a mug of ale. He hid, not wanting to be seen. He watched as Wilmar sat with slumped shoulders, not saying a word and ignoring his friend's attempts to cheer him up. Finally the lad looked up, brushing hair out of his face as he did so to acknowledge one of the other boys and Rumplestiltskin noticed the large welt that covered his left eye. Rumplestiltskin stared at the spot, swollen and greenish-purple and quite considerable in size. The boy looked quite frazzled, as if he could hardly bear the pain or the fact that someone had clearly been brave enough to return the gesture he'd offered Rumplestiltskin.

_Who would have done this? _Rumplestiltskin thought to himself as he observed the boy. Everyone that had been crowded around them the night before had been cheering for Wilmar. He'd heard them laugh as he crashed to the ground. But he also remembered silence, before he'd blacked out. That must have been when it happened though try as he might he could not think of anyone there who would have stood up for him, except-

He turned on his heel and rushed toward Belle's house as fast as he could carry himself.

"Belle! Belle!" He shouted even as his head pounded. Almost instantly he saw her rush outside, her face drawn up in concern. She laid eyes on him and hurried to meet him.

"Rumplestiltskin, what-"

She was cut off when he swept the girl into his arms and pressed his lips hard against hers, taking her completely by surprise. He was not one to offer affection so freely and until this point she'd been the one to initiate kisses between them. He pulled away and grabbed her arms, both to keep him steady and to keep her close.

"You wonderful, brilliant woman!" He declared, "Why did you not tell me what you did?"

Belle shrugged, flexing her bruised hand. "I was taking care of you. It wasn't important."

"Not important?" He blanched. "Belle, you punched him. For punching me. Have you seen him? He looks absolutely horrid! What on earth possessed you?" He reached down and grasped her hands and noticed that she winced. She'd done that the last time he'd taken her hand, and he looked down to see her knuckles were a light purple. She hadn't said a word about it; she never would have if he hadn't gone looking for Wilmar.

"I don't tolerate bullies. And he's been a problem for far too long," she said simply. "Besides, I did it as much for me as I did for you."

"It doesn't matter which of us it was for, that was brilliant!" He exclaimed. "You marvelous girl; I love you!"

He froze, staring down at her with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. He loved her, true, but he hadn't planned on admitting it for some time. Yet now that he'd spoken them, he felt nothing but relief. He was tired of hiding how he felt. He had always been fond of her but now it was definitely love and nothing felt as right as saying the words aloud. It didn't matter that they'd only known each other a short time or that they'd been courting less than a fortnight; he loved her. He'd never been a confident or sure man, but he'd never been so sure of anything in his life. He desperately loved her.

Her eyes were bright, sparkling with joy as her lips spread in a smile. "I love you, too."

There were so many things he could say; so many things he wanted to say but he could not find the words. Even after all her diligent teaching he couldn't piece together the proper words to express his joy, so instead he laughed loud and long. In his excitement, he wrapped her in his arms and spun her around, feeling delirious for reasons other than his pounding head. His heart and arms were full of Belle, and all was right in the world.

At last he put her down but they did not move away. He lifted her hand and gently kissed the bruised knuckles, careful not to cause her any further discomfort. She hadn't wanted Rumplestiltskin to know what she'd done. Many men would be upset to think that a woman had to stand up for them. Rumple was not like other men, but she hadn't wanted him to look upon her with anything other than favor. She had admired that he'd not resorted to violence, instead using his words to stop Wilmar in his tracks, and Belle valued words. Words were her weapon of choice and she could outwit, out speak, and overwhelm most people in the village with her rhetoric. Rumple seemed to share the same belief, that words – now that he had them – were better than violence. But even then, words could not leave a lasting impact on someone like Wilmar who threw around names and insults carelessly. He put no thought into what he said and it would take more to put someone like him in his place. Wilmar was brash. He He settled things by strength and brawn. She was not physically strong but her mind was sharp and she knew, both from her books and from watching the boys brawling with one another, how to hit. She hadn't realized just how hard she could throw a punch until today and as proud as she was of her accomplishment, the dull ache in her hand reminded her of why she shied away from physical fights and preferred to fight with words.

Rumplestiltskin had stepped up and shown his courage but he had suffered for it. The least Belle could do was help him along when words no longer proved useful. She could not deny the fact that she also gained a small bit of pleasure in knowing that word would spread all over the village of how one of the toughest lads in the area had been bested by a woman. Perhaps words would prove to be the more powerful weapon yet. She pushed those thoughts aside as she and Rumplestiltskin continued to embrace. He whispered again that he loved her, sounding timid now that the excitement of his discovery had worn off. She responded in kind, giggling when he leaned down to kiss her again.

Inside, Maurice shook his head as he turned away from the shameless display outside. He would have to talk to her about behaving that way where any could see. He would also need to make sure Belle's dowry was ready. Based on what he'd just overheard confessed between the two of them, he suspected it would only be a matter of time.

* * *

_Author's Notes: _

Thank you everyone for your kind words, favorites, and follows!

Chapter 6 will be up November 22!

Please see chapters 1 & 2 for the disclaimer.


	6. Unconventional

Chapter 6: Unconventional

* * *

The news came as quickly as a howling wind and left the people confused and uncertain in its wake. A large band of ogres, creatures, foul and feared who lived in the caves in the mountains far away, had begun traveling down from their caves and terrorizing the villages at the foothills. It had started with a few sparse attacks but quickly grown into hordes of ogres bringing their strength and numbers upon the helpless villages.

It quickly became clear that the ogres were not easily defeated so the king ordered soldiers to march out and meet the ogres in battle. When word of this reached the villages, Rumplestiltskin trembled in fear. The thought that ogres might make it to their land was a terrifying thought, but Belle had encouraged him and told him not to worry. She claimed the soldiers would take care of the ogres and things would once again be peaceful.

It was the first time Belle had ever been wrong.

Rumors began floating around the village that if the fight with the ogres progressed, there would be a draft. Rumplestiltskin hoped there would be no such thing. The thought of countless men being sent out to fight the vicious creatures was not a pleasant one, and Rumplestiltskin prayed desperately that a draft would not come.

And yet, the thought of going out and protecting his village and the people he loved within was inspiring. He had no visions of grandeur and no plans to become some village hero, but he knew there was honor and glory in protecting his land, his home, and his family. He thought long and hard about what would become of him if he were ever drafted, and he told himself that should that day come, he would hold his head high and be brave. He wanted to be brave to prove to himself that he could be. He wanted to be brave for Belle. He'd felt nothing but pride when she'd thanked him for standing up for her to Wilmar. He wanted to once again make her proud to have chosen him. Belle, however, did not seem to enjoy hearing about the ogres, so he kept all his opinions on fighting to himself.

Belle thought the fighting was foolish and unproductive. There had been too many stories of men dying in gruesome and tragic ways, and to Belle that should have been enough to determine a new course of action. If the current method did not work, choose a new one. Surely it was better than allowing men to die; however, her opinion was unpopular. The rest of the village seemed to take a perverse joy in hearing tales about the Ogre Wars, as they were now calling it. Tales of men sacrificing themselves for their comrades and recounts of men being pulled apart by the large creatures sent a thrill through the people. The excitement of the stories more enjoyable since the war was so far from their doorstep. Belle would often comment gruffly that the people would not take such interest in hearing the latest tales when the subjects were their sons and brothers.

It was with that thought in mind that Rumplestiltskin came to a decision. The war, such as it was, was far away; but with reports coming in frequently about the ogres overpowering the men who faced them, Rumplestiltskin decided that he no longer wanted to wait around for the opportune time to have a serious discussion with Belle's father. Things were moving quickly with the ogres, and he allowed his fear to spur him into action. He reached Belle's home and knocked, rocking back on his heels in nervous anticipation. The door swung open, and Maurice blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting Rumplestiltskin.

"Belle is out on an errand," he stated plainly and Rumplestiltskin nodded.

"Yes, I know," he said with a slight cough, "That's exactly why I'm here."

"Oh gods," Maurice groaned, but his smile hinted that it was more exaggerated and for show. "I know why you're here."

Offering a hesitant smile, Rumplestiltskin answered, "I suppose you do. May I?" he gestured toward the door and Maurice stepped aside to allow Rumplestiltskin room to enter. He did so and then stood nervously, waiting for Maurice, who quickly made himself busy pouring a glass of sweet wine for the two of them. He slid one of the mugs across the table toward Rumplestiltskin. He caught it easily and took a large drink, adding fuel to his inner fire.

"So I suppose you're here because you want to marry my daughter?" Maurice asked, getting right to the point. Rumplestiltskin took another deep drink from his cup and nodded.

"Yes, sir," he answered. "I would like that very much."

Maurice nodded and looked down at his own drink. He sat in that way for several long minutes, and his face grew pale, as if he were ill. "When my wife died," he began suddenly, startling Rumplestiltskin, "I thought my life was ended. Rose had been my world for so long that I had no idea what to do with myself without her. I mourned for my wife for a long time," he paused and fiddled with the small metal ring that rested on his finger, "I still mourn for her. And I would have succumb to my despair had it not been for Belle. She was only a child, but she was so kind and caring; and she looks so much like her mother. She became my world and she helped me to carry on. I don't' know if she knows just how lost I would be without her."

He sat silently for some time, playing idly with the cup in his hands, looking every bit the broken widower he was. Rumplestiltskin watched him in silence, allowing the other man's despair to settle over him, making his skin rise with gooseflesh. Maurice's sorrow was fresh even after so long, and the wound was deep. Finally, Maurice looked up and gave Rumplestiltskin a sad smile. "Do you know why I told you that?" he asked.

Rumplestiltskin did not, and he admitted it.

"I want you to understand how important my daughter is to me. I need to know that if I let her go, she'll be taken care of. She'll be loved. She will be your world as my Rose was to me."

Rumplestiltskin wanted to speak, but the lump in his throat prevented him from doing so. He loved Belle tremendously, as did her father. Rumplestiltskin never had a father's love and to see this man speak of his daughter in such a warm and devoted way only fueled his desire to love and cherish her more. He would be a worthy husband. He would ensure that her father never had to worry about whether or not his dear Belle was loved. She would be so loved.

Fighting to keep his emotions in check, Rumplestiltskin set his gaze firmly on the other man. "I can't promise you that I'll be able to give her much," he began, "But she will have all the love and respect I can possibly give her. If she will have me, I will give her all I have."

Maurice seemed to take a moment to consider Rumplestiltskin's statement. Then he stretched his hand out across the table, offering it to Rumplestiltskin. "I've no doubt she'll say yes. You make her happy and it's clear that you love one another. You have my blessing.

Rumplestiltskin stared at the proffered hand with his eyes wide and mouth agape. Then he seemed to realize what had occurred and with an uncharacteristic shout he leapt toward Maurice and grasped his hand with a firm grip.

"Thank you so much," he gasped. His excitement and relief welled up inside him, ready to burst.

Maurice chuckled at his future son-in-law's excitement. "Would you like to discuss her dowry now, or wait until she accepts?"

"I-I suppose now," Rumplestiltskin spoke hesitantly.

Maurice nodded, clearly transforming from doting father to stern businessman. He began to list off the items that would join Belle in her marriage to Rumplestiltskin: clothing, linen, several books, and a large amount of money. Rumplestiltskin's mouth sagged at the sum, but he forced himself to remain quiet. He could think of numerous investments he could make with that kind of money, but that would not be up to him. This money was Belle's. He would not do anything without her permission. He only hoped that she would be willing to assist him in his desire to invest in some sheep.

After talking for a while longer, Rumplestiltskin departed, not wanting Belle to see him at her home at such an odd hour of the day. He did not want her to suspect anything, so he quickly returned home and began thinking of the perfect way to ask for her hand. Rumplestiltskin was fortunate in his circumstances; most girls were not allowed to pick their husbands, and when families were desperate enough, the boys were offered up as well. Rumplestiltskin had never had anyone desire to be his, nor had the spinsters who raised him seen the need to pawn him off for money.

He sat at his spinning wheel, spinning wool as he thought. He always did his best thinking at the wheel, and now was no exception. He had nothing he could offer her as a gift, and he glanced around his small shack in the hopes that a sufficient gift would appear merely by thinking of it. It did not and he sighed, shaking his head at his foolishness. Of course he could not conjure something out of thin air. That wasn't possible for someone like him.

He thought of collecting more flowers, but he knew that would never do. She had loved the flowers he'd given her the night of the festival, but they had not even been courting then; how could he ask for her hand and merely give her flowers.

He knew It was not necessary to give a gift, because most people had little enough of their own as it was. But he was determined to make an impression when he asked her, and he would be damned if he bent his knee with nothing to lift up to her.

He continued to spin, wondering what he could possibly offer his Belle. His thoughts began to race and as they sped, so did the wheel. He thought and spun until the last of the wool was complete and he absently began to wind the material up in preparation for his morning trip to the market.

How he envied Ebert; the hateful man was the only provider of fabrics and cloth in the village and although he had been reasonable with Rumplestiltskin of late, his prices were hardly fair. Rumplestiltskin could not deny the man had excellent quality fabric and materials that he would love to get his hands on, but even if he could afford to purchase the extra materials, he would have no idea what to make-

And then he had it. In his mind he could see the perfect gift for Belle. She was not a vain girl, nor did she care about the state of her clothing. She had never learned to sew either, and was forced to take her mending elsewhere. But that was it. He had seen her clothing, the two dresses she had to wear: one a simple brown, the other a pale green. Other than the few items in her trousseau that came with her dowry, she had little else.

And like that, he decided. He would make her a dress.

~0~

Rumplestiltskin made his way to Ebert's stand early the next morning. He wanted to beat the crowds, which were beginning to take form, and rush back home so he could begin working on his gift for Belle.

He could see the dress in his mind. It would be simple and comfortable; something she could work in but still look lovely. He debated about what color to dye the material and after he went through his stores, he decided on a lovely shade of blue to match her eyes.

He arrived at the stand where Ebert had just finished setting up his goods. Rumplestiltskin placed his basket on the small counter and pushed it toward the man.

"I'd like to trade today," Rumplestiltskin said gently, afraid the man's mood would be poor.

"Just what I want," he grumbled. "Yer ugly mutt showin' up first thing. What you want to trade fer?"

Rumplestiltskin knew exactly what items Ebert had to sell, and he pointed to a bundle of rough woven linen. "I'd like that," he said. "However much you'll give me."

Rolling his eyes, Ebert checked the wool then grabbed the bundle of linen and unwound it. Taking a pair of scissors, he snipped off a length of it before shoving it toward Rumplestiltskin. "That good enough for you?" He asked hatefully.

Rumplestiltskin had an eye for material and he could easily tell that he'd been given roughly three yards of the material - more than enough to make a dress for Belle. He thanked Ebert, sighing to himself when the man tossed out another insult and then another for good measure. Rumple grabbed his basket and took off. He told himself that one day he'd stand up to the hateful man and show him that he wasn't someone to push around. He could envision it in his mind, but that was where his bravery would remain. As much as he wanted to tell the man what he thought of him, Rumple relied on Ebert to buy his wool, and to insult a man much larger and meaner than him would surely cause him to lose his sole buyer.

He returned to his shack and began preparations for dying the fabric. He worked long and hard through the day. The process was lengthy, but finally the material was dyed and hanging out to dry. He worried that Belle might see it on the line, but he had no other options and would think up something to tell her to ward off any suspicion. After he cleaned up his mess, most of the day had passed and he was due to visit his sweetheart for another reading lesson.

~000~

He loved the stories they read together. She seemed to know his taste in books, though he hadn't realized he had one; and they devoured books together, taking turns reading and discussing what happened within the pages. Belle craved books and learning and he found that it was quite the enjoyable addiction. It was a treat to escape to a different world, with brave knights and beautiful princesses and monsters that were not always so. The world around them was quickly spiraling into a chaotic mess of war stories and silently growing fear that the ogres would advance, but with Belle by his side and a book in their hands, there were no worries.

He walked to Belle's home again, his steps slow and languid. He was in no rush, instead enjoying the cool evening breeze and uncommon silence that filled the air. No doubt many of the people were gathered at the pub trying to find out the latest news about the ogres. He knocked on the door, eager to greet his beloved and when she opened the door, she smiled brightly at him. He kissed her hand then entered the house to see Maurice sitting at his desk writing a letter and they greeted each other with scheming grins. He knew he was not much of a prospect, but he was glad that Belle's father had given him permission to ask for her hand. Knowing that Maurice held him in his favor made him feel worthy of Belle's love. He also had to admit that it felt nice to share a secret with someone, as if they were friends. He had not had many friends when he'd been growing up and any friendships he'd managed to acquire had long since abandoned him for fellows who were not under the lasting shadow of their malevolent fathers.

"Come on," Belle said, tugging on his arm. "It's a lovely evening. Why don't we read outside?"

He nodded, embarrassed at how easily it was for her to make him speechless, even after courting for several weeks. He followed her obediently out the small back door and into the field that was behind the house. It was small and modest, but good land that would no doubt one day be passed onto Belle. Rumplestiltskin knew, based on his conversation with Maurice that the man did not begrudge his lack of sons, and he would gladly give over everything to his daughter. It made him pleased that Belle had such a father and not a man like Hagan who cursed his daughters and longed for sons.

Belle moved to the middle of the field and sat down. She glanced up at him, reached up with one arm, and pulled on his hand to have him sit next to her. He did so, his leg brushing against hers and the feeling sent a whirlwind of thoughts through his mind. He could see Belle with him in his home, snuggled up by the fire reading. He could see them sitting in the field near the path he took to Hagan's**,** with her lounging in the space between his legs. He could see them walking hand in hand through the town square, his arm wrapped around her. He could imagine pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her cheek and no one would be able to say anything about propriety because she was his wife and he could do as he pleased.

It was enough to make him want to ask for her hand right then. He had half a mind to just do it and let the dress be a wedding gift instead. But he'd planned this a certain way, and he would not stray from his path. He refrained and gently took the book from her hands and opened it up to the place where they'd left off. He began to read, his face growing hot as she leaned over closer to him. She wrapped one hand around his arm and followed him intently, making sure he pronounced every word correctly. It was a wonder he remembered how to read, so distracted was he. Having Belle so close made his blood rush and his thoughts wander to even more distracting and ungentlemanly thoughts, but he forced himself to focus, and tried to ignore the glorious feeling of her fingers gently rubbing his forearm. She was driving him mad, and surely she knew it. He pressed on, determined not to lose sight of himself and do something untoward. He read for an hour, only stopping because his throat began to hurt and Belle gently reclaimed the book from him and called the session over.

The strode back into the house arm in arm, and after lingering for a few minutes longer, Rumplestiltskin bid her and her father good night, then snuck a quick kiss from Belle. He returned home, where he sat up the rest of the night preparing the material to be cut and sewn the next day. He was growing impatient, eager to be with Belle - if she would have him - and the sooner he could finish his gift for her, the sooner he could present it to her and ask for her hand. He worked late into the night, only stopping when he could no longer hold his eyes open. He collapsed into the bed and fell asleep instantly.

He awoke after the sun had already risen that morning. He groaned and cursed, leaping from the bed to begin working on the dress. He measured and cut and sewed until the dress began to take shape. He was pleased with how it was turning out, and he could not wait to see Belle in the dress he'd made specifically for her. He did not have much to offer her, but he was skilled at spinning and sewing - things that were often thought of as women's work. But he took pride in his skill, and he hoped that Belle would appreciate his efforts, even if making a dress for one's intended was a bit out of the ordinary. Neither of them had been very conventional, and it seemed only appropriate that his proposal be unconventional as well.

He worked for several more hours, not bothering to stop for food. His desire to finish his gift fueled him and he did not want to stop for anything if he did not have to. Finally, as the sun began to sink in the west, he draped the dress across his bed, admiring his work. One side still needed to be sewn, but he would do that after he presented it to Belle. He had no way of knowing her measurements and he could not afford much more cloth should he mess up. No, he would offer it to her, and if she accepted it, he would have her try it on so that he could properly finish it. It was the safest course of action and he clapped his hands together in excitement.

He had just made the decision to wait until the next day, which would give him plenty of time to think of what he would possibly say, when there was a gentle knock on his door. Knowing it could be no one else, he quickly grabbed the dress and hid it in the basket next to his spinning wheel, then rushed to the door. Belle stood on the other side, looking as lovely as always and Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard as he looked upon her. What had he done to deserve her?

"Good evening," she said, giggling when he continued to stare at her. Her smile twitched in amusement when he failed to answer, so she repeated her greeting, which caused Rumplestiltskin to shake himself out of his stupor and respond in kind. He stepped aside to allow her entry, and she brushed past him, making herself comfortable on one of his stools. Turning to look up at him, she explained. "Someone had urgent business with my father. I didn't feel like being alone. I hope you don't mind."

He stumbled forward and knelt awkwardly at her feet, reaching up to take one of her hands in his. "Of course I don't mind!" He exclaimed. "Every moment you spend with me is a moment I cherish."

She blushed, the rose color highlighting her features and making her look lovelier than ever. Rumplestiltskin rose up on his knees and brushed his knuckles over cheeks, loving the way she shivered under his touch. It was not proper for them to be alone like this. They were not wed, and if anyone saw Belle leaving his home after nightfall, there would be a flurry of distasteful rumors swirling about by sunrise. He knew he should escort her home, or walk with her outside to prevent anyone from thinking anything too suspicious. Yet she leaned into his touch, and reached out with her own hand, still slightly discolored and touched Rumple's face. He was still bruised as well though he could hardly feel it anymore.

Encouraged, he leaned forward, and his eyes met hers. She moved toward him, and he smiled before she brushed her lips against his. His eyes remained open, intent on watching her every expression as best he could, and he pressed his lips to hers more firmly, loving their softness. They kissed slowly, neither of them in a rush; and after some time he became so caught up in his exploration of her mouth that his eyes slipped closed and he lost himself in the feel of it all. It was still new to him, and the joy of having her here with him – to say nothing of the thrill he felt knowing that what they were doing was forbidden. Her reputation was still at stake, especially now. It was clear that thoughts of what others would think was far from her mind. It had already been made clear by Wilmar that some people thought her ruined already, and though it angered him to know that anyone dared think of his pure and precious Belle in such a way, he could not bring himself to fret anymore over whether or not they were seen. He was too busy enjoying this moment with Belle, and if his sweetheart wanted a kiss, he was not going to let his fear of what others might say stop him from enjoying the favors she offered freely.

He knew what others thought and said about him, and none of it was kind. Why should he sacrifice the one joy he had worrying over what they might say next? As long as Belle continued to kiss him, the rest of the village could be damned.

Their lips were separated by only a breath, both of them breathing heavily. Belle giggled breathlessly and placed another warm and sweet kiss against his lips before sitting back in the chair. She moved his hands so they were wrapped in hers and placed them primly on her lap.

"I should probably go home," she said after a long while. "Papa doesn't know I'm gone. I don't want to worry."

Rumplestiltskin nodded, hating that she was right. He did not want her to leave and judging by the look in her eyes, her reluctance to leave was as heavy as his reluctance to see her go. "I wish I didn't have to," she whispered after some time, causing Rumplestiltskin to meet her gaze sharply. "I hate having to watch you go at the end of the day," she said. "I hate leaving. I know we aren't far away from each other, but I don't like saying goodbye."

Just as when her actions had shocked him into telling her he loved her, her words now left him unable to do anything but speak out the one thing that had been on his mind the entire time she'd been in his arms.

"Marry me, then."

She blinked, clearly surprised, but then her eyes grew warm and a hesitant smile began to form. "What?"

He sat frozen, his eyes wide as he realized he'd just proposed in the worst way possible. He stood reluctantly, let go of her hands, and moved to the basket at his spinning wheel. Digging through it, he pulled out the fabric and unfolded it, turning around to hold the mostly-finished blue dress in front of him. He stepped forward and held the dress out, offering it to her sheepishly.

"I was going to wait until tomorrow," he said with a heavy sigh, "But it seems I can't ever do anything right when it comes to you." He toyed with the fabric in his hands, unsure of how to proceed. "I always feel like such a fool, but you never seem to mind." He gave the dress a small shake. "This is my gift to you. I have nothing else to offer you, and the only thing I'm good at is spinning and sewing. I wanted to make something to give to you when I asked for your hand, and the only thing I could think of was a dress."

She stood slowly and approached him, her expression unreadable. He swallowed thickly, waiting for her to laugh or reject him. Instead, she reached out with a tender hand and stroked the front of the dress, allowing the material to slide through her fingers. She looked up at him and it was only then that he realized she had tears in her eyes.

"You made this for me?"

"Aye," he answered softly. "I did."

"It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice full of awe.

"I have to finish it," he explained quickly, "I want to make sure it will fit you."

She took the dress from his hands and draped it gently over the spinning wheel. "You didn't have to do this. But it's wonderful, Rumple. I can't believe you went to all this trouble for me."

He smiled lovingly at her. "I would do anything for you, Belle. I love you."

She sighed happily, looking at him with love and affection. "Will you ask me again?"

It hadn't been what he'd planned, but with Belle, nothing had gone the way he'd expected. Unable to contain his excitement, he gripped one of her hands in his and quickly knelt down before her. Looking up into her eyes, he declared, "Belle, I love you more than I can possibly say. Will you do me the greatest honor of becoming my wife?"

She laughed joyfully and sank down to her knees to kiss him thoroughly. When she parted her lips from his, she answered with an enthusiastic, "Yes!"

* * *

_Author's Notes: _

Aww yay!

Thank you again for all the kind reviews! I've gained several new followers and favorites and I'm so excited to know so many of you are interested in my story. It really does mean a lot to me. I know I say that every week, but it really is true.

Next chapter will be up November 29. For my readers who celebrate it, Happy Thanksgiving! I know I'm looking forward to having some time off and being with my family.

_Please see chapters 1 and/or 2 for the disclaimer. _


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